The Break-Up
by chromeknickers
Summary: It had begun as a relationship of convenience, but somewhere along the way Bonnie had made a mistake: she had fallen in love. No woman gave her heart to Damon Salvatore if she wanted to keep it intact, so Bonnie did what she thought would be best for the both of them: she ran. But staying away would prove to be the hardest thing she couldn't do.
1. The Break-Up

"WHAT ARE YOU doing Friday night?" Damon asked Bonnie the moment she stepped into the parlour.

"I don't know. I don't really have anything planned."

"Is that so?"

She shrugged a nod and he poured himself a glass of bourbon from the crystal decanter before leaning against the bar. His silver-blue eyes raked over his girlfriend's attire; she was dressed in a white knit off-the-shoulder peasant blouse, dark skinny capri jeans that clung to every delicious curve and a pair of black Ivanka Trump dress sandals that showed off her pretty French-tip pedicure.

"Then put on something sexy and accessible, my little witch, because I am taking you out on the town." He waggled his eyebrows at her and tipped the glass to his lips. "I'm thinking about dinner at Casa del Sol. Ever been?"

"No, I haven't."

"Good." He took a healthy sip of his drink and grinned. "You'll love it."

"Mmm, yeah."

Glancing down at his glass, he absently swirled the liquor in its crystal tumbler. "Listen, Bons, I know I've been neglecting you as of late—" a tender, almost apologetic smile lit up his face as he met her eyes "—but I promise to make it up to you."

She stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, opened her mouth to speak, but then shut it just as quickly. Her brow wrinkled in a frown and she folded her arms beneath her breasts, nodding slowly in answer.

Damon, however, wasn't fooled by her silence. He set down his glass and lifted an eyebrow at her sudden change in demeanour. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I just—" she dropped her arms to her sides and glanced down at her feet "—I don't think I can make it this Friday."

She had his full attention now.

"But you just told me you didn't have any plans." His voice had hardened with suspicion. Why wasn't she looking at him? "Am I mistaken in assuming that I can take my girlfriend out on a date if she has no plans?"

Her tongue darted along her upper lip and she shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't have any plans. It's just that I don't want to go out to dinner with you, Damon."

"And why not?" A muscle ticked in his jaw and he tried valiantly not to outright scream at her or accuse her of a list of offences that were quickly multiplying by the second inside his head. "We don't have to go out to dinner. We can go to the movies or a club or just stay in for the night. Stefan's bound to have some sappy romantic chick flick hidden around here somewhere, nestled between his tampons and an original copy of _The Bell Jar_."

When she didn't even crack a smile at the joke, his frown deepened. Bonnie was the only one who appreciated a good joke at the expense of Stefan, even if she'd later deny it to Stefan's face.

"Damon, I think—I think we should break up."

He went completely still. "Pardon me?"

"You heard me."

His lips compressed into a hard, thin line. "Not correctly, I didn't." He walked around the bar and stood directly in front of her, forcing her to meet his gaze. He studied her carefully. "I believe you're saying that you want to leave me," he said slowly, tempering his tone with great difficulty. "I wasn't aware that you were unhappy with our . . . _situation_." Relationship might have been pushing it.

"Well, I am," she said, lifting her chin in that predictably defiant way of hers. "I have been for a while now."

"I see." He brought his hand to her hair and curled a dark lock around his middle finger before letting go. "So you're fucking someone else, then?"

She visibly flinched at the savagery of his words and how coldly he had spoken them, but she kept her eyes trained on his. "No, Damon, I am not cheating on you."

He raised an incredulous eyebrow at this. Unconvinced of her innocence, his temper quickly began to rise to its boiling point—to the point of no return. She might not have been cheating on him now but she obviously wanted to see other people, other _men_. She wanted to fuck _someone else_. Why else would she want to break up with him?

"What brought about this sudden revelation?" he asked. His lips had curled into an ugly sneer and he was already prowling around her. It was obvious that his manner of stalking her was making her decidedly agitated and he was glad for it, glad that he could still frighten her on some level. "Decided that you loathe me again? Back to seeing the world in black and white, good witches versus _evil_ vampires?"

"Of course not," she replied flippantly, unwilling to back down. Maybe she wasn't so frightened after all. Damn. "I just feel like this relationship or whatever it is has run its course. We've been together for three months—"

"Four," he corrected, and then internally cursed himself for keeping count.

"—and we both knew this was just for fun." She shrugged nonchalantly, as though this were nothing, as if _he_ were nothing. "Neither of us wants to be tied down."

"Tied down?" he echoed darkly.

"Yes." She met his eye without shrinking away. So damn unaffected. Such a poker face. She was waiting for a reaction, waiting for him to show some sign of relief or irritation that _he_ wasn't the one ending them, but he wouldn't give her the satisfaction. Instead he just lapsed into one of his episodes of pointed silence and latent anger, knowing this would only aggravate her more.

He nodded after a moment. "All right. If that's what you want," he added with frigid politeness.

"It's what we _both _want, Damon," she said, before inhaling deeply. "Thank you for understanding." She waited for him to speak but he didn't say any word. Again, he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. "Well, I guess I'll be going, then. I'd really like for us to remain—"

"Take care, Judgey." His face was impassive, his body language closed off. Take that, bitch! "I'm sure I'll see you at the next Scooby gang meeting."

She hesitated for a moment and then smirked. "Considering you and I are the only two who can devise credible plans to save Elena and this town then, yeah, I guess I'll see you soon."

And then she left.

The second her back was turned to him, he closed his eyes. The click of the door shutting behind her echoed throughout the room and he suddenly opened his eyes in search of the nearest, not-bolted-to-the-floor object in sight. Wrapping his fingers around the neck of a Tiffany lamp, he pulled the chord out of its socket and hurled the expensive thing at the wall. It shattered easily, barely masking the roar that erupted from his mouth.

Goddamn that witch! Four months! They had been together for _four_ months! He tried to remember the last time he had gone out with a woman for that long—a human woman—and he gave up. Did she really think he didn't care, that this was all just for fun? Maybe that's how it had started in the beginning, but now . . .

He stopped himself from finishing that thought and took an unnecessary breath before glancing around the room. It was silent and empty, eerily so, but no more silent and no more empty than it had been before Bonnie had come and gone, leaving him with the knowledge that she had left _him_. She had left him and he was alone, again. Always fucking alone.

He walked back over to the bar and picked up his unfinished drink. He hated himself for the pathetic thoughts of inadequacy shuffling through his mind as he topped off his drink with angry, shaking hands.

What had he done wrong? He hadn't killed anyone—at least not anyone who didn't need killing. He hadn't drunk directly from the vein in, well, four months. He hadn't looked at another woman, much less thought of someone else other than Bonnie. He hadn't even flirted with Elena. So he couldn't be found guilty in any of those departments.

He hadn't smothered her with attention, either. He hadn't been his usual overbearing, obsessive self. He had given Bonnie the space and independence she had firmly informed him that she required, even though he wanted to suffocate her at times, wanted to stalk her every movement. And Lord only knew how hard he had tried not to let his obsession show. He knew all too well how she hated that about him, what with his past with Katherine and Elena. But if he couldn't obsess over his feelings and insecurities concerning her, then he had at least wanted her to depend on him a little, pine after him just a smidgen. Was it really too much to ask for?

God how he just wanted to be with her sometimes. All the time. In her space, in her room, in her face. All around her. Possessing her. Even now he wanted to be with her, to feel the smoothness of her thighs beneath his hands, to explore every sun-kissed curve on her body, to bathe in the heat of her skin, to bury himself between the wet folds of her—

He shook his head with a grimace, as if he could rid the treacherous thoughts and the natural inclination of his body with this simple action. No such luck. He was destined to be rejected by the most important women in his life and _still_ pine after them. He was a fucking joke.

_Fuck this_, he told himself, taking another swig of his drink. He had clearly done nothing wrong, so whatever problem laid in their relationship, it was her problem, her fault. Maybe she didn't want him anymore. Maybe she never wanted him in the first place. Maybe she was only using him to get to someone else or prove some fucking teenage girl point. Maybe it was all one big fucking joke and he was the punch line.

The tumbler of bourbon shattered in his hand. Dark, sticky liquid sprayed across his neck and chest and he unclenched his hand that had formed into a fist, letting the pieces of glass break apart and fall to the floor. Shards of crystal had splintered into his palm as bourbon and blood ran down his wrist in rivulets, staining the rug dark below.

Fuck, he liked that rug.

"Goddammit!" he swore, his eyes blazing brightly as he stalked across the room to look for something to destroy. "Goddamn her to hell!"

And as he began to tear the place apart, he angrily wondered if his little witch had any idea what she had just done. Had any fucking inclination of the beast she had just unleashed on the world.

**: : : :**

* * *

**A/N:** If this story seems familiar, it's because it's the expanded version of a ficlet I wrote in my Bamon drabble collection, Aversion. The story here takes place before the girls leave for university and, in this version of events, Bonnie does not feed Alaric her blood because Damon snaps his neck. Also, Elena doesn't become a vampire, so there's no sire-bond or cure nonsense.

PS: I'm writing this as I go, so be gentle. ;)


	2. Tabula Rasa

BONNIE WASN'T QUITE sure where to go after she had left the boarding house. She just got in her Prius and drove aimlessly, not really paying attention to her surroundings. She had considered heading straight home and curling up in bed with a carton of Ben & Jerry's, _The Notebook_, and a box of tissues, but somehow she ended up on Caroline's doorstep.

"Hey," she greeted, a great deal cheerier than she felt. Luckily Caroline didn't suspect anything amiss in her demeanour. She was too busy ushering her best friend inside the house.

"I've been texting you for the past twenty minutes!" the blonde complained, steering Bonnie towards the living room. Elena was there too, seated on the sofa with a large bowl of popcorn nestled next to her thigh. _Dirty Dancing_ was frozen on the flat screen TV, placed on pause.

"Sorry, I was at Damon's," she muttered, taking a seat once Elena had removed the bowl and set it on the coffee table.

"Where is he anyway?" she asked, as if expecting the older Salvatore brother to come waltzing into the room at any moment.

"Back at the boarding house, I assume." Bonnie shrugged. "Or off getting wasted at The Grill."

Caroline held the remote loosely in her hand and shared an uneasy look with Elena.

"Why would Damon be getting wasted at The Grill?" Elena asked hesitantly.

"Because I broke up with him." Bonnie scooped up a handful of popcorn from the bowl. "Either he's drinking to celebrate or lament that fact that he didn't think of dumping me first."

Caroline's eyes went wide with disbelief while Elena frowned, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. "You broke up with him? Why?" she prodded gently. "You two seemed to be getting along so well."

"You mean we lasted longer than anyone expected?" Bonnie snorted derisively, raising an eyebrow at her best friend in umbrage before shaking her head. "Look, Elena, you and I both know that he's still not over you. And I can't be in a relationship with a guy who's in love with one of my best friends."

A guilty expression instantly stole over the tall brunette's face and she went silent for a moment, unable to reply. Caroline, however, took this opportunity to flop down onto the seat next to Bonnie and throw an affectionate arm around her shoulders.

"Well, good for you, Bonnie," she declared proudly, offering her distraught friend her most dazzling smile. "You're too good for Damon, anyway. Waaaay too good for him. Right, Elena?"

Elena's eyes widened and then she nodded furtively in agreement. "R-right."

"Yeah, well—" Bonnie shrugged, letting out a protracted sigh "—it was all for the best."

She shovelled the popcorn into her mouth and chewed slowly, not wanting to say any more. She really didn't want to admit that Damon still being in love with Elena wasn't her _only_ reason for wanting to end it with him. She could live with that—and did live with that fact for several months—when she wasn't in love him. But over the past few weeks her feelings had deepened considerably for the dark-haired vampire. She had fallen in love with him and now she was scared shitless of that love, and its inevitable fallout.

She shouldn't have got involved with Damon in the first place. Nothing good could come out of loving a vampire who was obsessed with her best friend. And even though he had been doing his best not to haunt Elena's every footstep—out of respect for his relationship with Bonnie or Stefan, she didn't know—he couldn't hide his desires. He wanted Elena. He would always want Elena. She would always be first, and Bonnie refused to be someone's second best ever again. Not after Jeremy.

Hell, one of the reasons she and Damon had got together in the first place was because they were sick of always being the second choice. Runners-up. If you asked Damon, though, their coming together had everything to do with the unresolved sexual tension that had been mounting between them for years. He had told her that they needed to clear the air, and one night on a drunken whim she had taken him up on his offer. But what she had initially intended to be a one-time thing had become a weekly thing and then a daily thing, and before she knew it they were dating.

Neither had put a label on whatever it was they had or who they were to each other. In fact, today was the first time Damon had ever referred to her his girlfriend, and it had shocked her to the core. Though she knew he didn't love her, at least not the way she wanted him to, she was aware that he had come to care for her in his own way. He had become habituated to her new role in his life. She had become familiar, no longer the frenemy or his go-to witch. She had become so much more than that—she had become his lover, his confident and his not-always-willing partner in crime.

But she wasn't the one he was _in love_ with. That was Elena. Every time her best friend entered the room, Bonnie could feel the tension settle in the air. She would watch as Damon's eyes would inevitably drift to Elena and linger there, longingly. It had begun to create a bruise on her now-fragile heart. And as much as she tried to shake it off and pretend that it wasn't there, the bruise only swelled and spread.

She was already in too deep, but maybe not deep enough that she could avoid drowning. So tonight she had decided to swim back to the safe, Damon-free shores. She would miss the waters—the way they caressed, soothed and licked at her skin—but her heart would remain safer this way. Lonelier but safer.

It was for the best, she had reasoned, but when she had gone to the boarding house to break up with him, she almost didn't follow through. For the first time in their relationship he had acted like a proper boyfriend, considerate and caring, and it had made her question what she was about to do. But no one could fault Bonnie on her lack of resolve. She was Miss Resolve Girl. She had to go through with it, like ripping off a Band-Aid as quickly and as painlessly as possible. Still, breaking-up hurt like hell and now she felt like utter shit for doing this to him.

But Damon would get over it eventually, much sooner than she would—if he wasn't already getting over it with some random chick in his bed. She tried not to gnash her teeth at the thought of him with another woman so soon. She had no right to get jealous or upset over him returning to his playboy ways. She had dumped him, not the other way around. She deserved this.

Lord only knew that she hadn't wanted to end things. She'd deny it to the grave, but she actually enjoyed spending time with Damon. He was surprisingly intelligent, charming, funny in his own sarcastic way and challenging. No one else knew how to keep her constantly on her toes like he did. There was never a dull moment in their relationship, and when the arguments got heated, so did the sex. Even non-argumentative sex with Damon would curl her toes and plaster a perma-smile on her face. And it wasn't even the vampire aspect that did it for her, which, honestly, she could have done without. She wasn't a death-lover like her best friend, Elena.

Though initially inexperienced in love-making, Bonnie had come to experience first-hand how generous and thorough a lover Damon could be. He always made sure to get her off before he did, even when she didn't really know what getting-off meant. On top of that he could be surprisingly tender and sweet.

Yes, Damon Salvatore could actually be sweet—behind closed doors. Lying in bed together, coming down from their post-coital bliss, he would hold her close and tell her stories about his travels and his past. Sometimes he would even recount his childhood with Stefan, secretly divulging how they were once best friends, two halves of the same whole.

Other times he would read to her in bed or in the library—from the works of Ovid and Virgil to Austen and Hemingway and even Georgette Heyer. He was a romantic at heart, even though he'd resist torture just to deny it. Or they'd listen to the classics, like Vivaldi, Bach and Hendel, and then he'd dip her toes into the blue notes of her own grass roots, playing the works of Charles Mingus, John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Billie Holiday and Nina Simone.

They'd just sit with one another for hours, never saying a word, never trading a barb; just reading or listening to music, sharing the occasional knowing look, the conspiratorial smiles and soft laughs. She never thought she could be so comfortable or so at ease with a man, and imagine her surprise when she found that someone would be Damon Salvatore.

So absorbed in her thoughts about Damon, she hadn't even realised that the movie was already over. Caroline had got up to pop in a new DVD, _Footloose_, and Bonnie almost knocked over the bowl of popcorn in surprise. Apparently they were on an Eighties' dance flick kick tonight. But before the blonde could settle back down on the sofa and press play, there was a loud series of knocks on the front door.

Somehow taken unaware by the interruption, Caroline jumped at the noise and Bonnie frowned at her. Wasn't she a vampire with super-hearing now? How did she not hear this person arrive?

Caroline quietly made her way out into the foyer and opened the front door. "Stefan!"

Elena's interest was instantly piqued. The brunette had swivelled around so quickly that Bonnie was sure the girl had given herself whiplash as she jumped up and made a beeline for the foyer.

Elena and Stefan had yet to properly get back together after the whole Originals ordeal, what with Stefan turning off his humanity and Elena's tryst with Damon in the hotel room outside of Colorado. Stefan was still understandably upset with himself and Elena's confusing co-dependency with his older brother. Even when Damon and Bonnie had initially got together, Elena had still relied on Damon more than necessary and more than Bonnie admittedly liked.

"I'd invite you in to stay but this is girls' night," Caroline said slyly with a grin. "And while you know I consider you my girl, Stef, girls' night requires the lack of certain, uh, anatomical parts."

"Stefan?" Elena took a tentative step towards the younger Salvatore brother. "How are you?"

A slightly ruffled-looking Stefan spared Elena a brief glance before turning his gaze to Bonnie, who had finally got up to join them. "Bonnie, I've been trying to get ahold of you."

"I had my phone turned off," she said absently, the corner of her eyebrow dimpling with bemusement. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's Damon." His smooth forehead was doing that wrinkling, brooding thing it did, and she felt ice swim through her veins. Something was wrong. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

"What is it? What has he done?"

All eyes went to Stefan, expecting an answer.

"Nothing, yet," he said, eyeing Bonnie carefully, "but he's destroyed the parlour and he isn't answering his phone. I was worried that something might have happened to you two, but . . ." He paused, giving her another look over. "But you seem to be okay."

"I guess you could say that," she muttered, before meeting the vampire's brooding gaze. "I broke up with Damon tonight."

"You broke up with him?" His eyebrows all but disappeared into his hairline and then his brow wrinkled into another pensive frown. "Oh, well, that explains the broken Tiffany lamp and all the shattered Steuben glasses."

"Sorry."

"It's not your fault." He sighed, leaning against the door frame. "It's just Damon being Damon. He's probably throwing himself a pity party right now at the Grill. Don't worry, he'll get o—"

"He'll get over it," she supplied for him, seeing the look of discomfort on Stefan's face. "Yeah, I know." He'd get over her quickly because she wasn't Katherine or Elena. She wasn't the love of his life and she never would be.

"Right." Stefan cleared his throat uncomfortably before pushing himself off the door frame. "Well, sorry to have disturbed girls' night."

"Goodnight, Stefan," Bonnie and Caroline said simultaneously, but he was already gone before Elena could say her goodbyes.

Bonnie just stood in the middle of the foyer for a moment, breathing in and out, trying to decide what to do. As much as she loved spending time with her friends, she really needed to be alone right now. She needed to digest what had just happened, the relationship she had just ended.

A few seconds later she excused herself, claiming a headache, and made her way home. Ben & Jerry's were already calling her name.

**: : : :**

THE NEXT FEW weeks were absolutely brutal.

Bonnie had tried to ignore Damon as best she could, focussing on her exams and her university applications, but the ass had made it a point to go out of his way to be a spectacular dick to her. He would insult her at every opportunity, take jabs at her witchcraft, her wardrobe, her life-choices, and then he'd bring girls over to Elena's house, the Grill or any Lockwood party—anywhere Bonnie would be—and parade them around her like they were prize horses at the Kentucky Derby.

It had come to the point where Bonnie considered staying at home and becoming a hermit, since it was the one place he had never been invited into. In fact, the whole house-invite thing was one of the reasons she had considered ending the relationship. One night she had almost invited him in upon reflex, but that would have been crossing the line she had so often told herself she would never cross. That would mean she trusted him and placed not only the life of herself but her father in his hands. And though she was almost certain Damon would never kill her father, if it came down to saving Elena, she knew he'd be more than willing to arrange both of her parents as the undead just so that the doppelgänger could live.

Truth be told, she had never completely forgiven Damon for turning Abby, even after he explained why he did it—not just to save her and Elena's lives but because he knew without a doubt that she would never go through the transition if given the option. Bonnie could never live as a vampire. She was a witch and that was who she'd always be. Damon had understood that, had respected that and respected her decisions. And while his explanation had done nothing to mollify her, his ability to understand her unlike anyone else had irrevocably drawn them closer even though it should have forced them apart.

Now he was pushing her away, again. Not just pushing her away but repelling her. He couldn't get her to hate him passionately enough, but at the same time he couldn't seem to leave her alone. She had become his new obsession, and suddenly Bonnie found herself pitying Elena. Why did Damon's version of love always have to be so suffocating?

Just when she thought he was getting bored with her lack of response to his attempts to incite her jealousy, Damon had reached an all-time low. It wasn't enough for him to hurt her like she had hurt him. He had to destroy her.

It had all came to a head at the pre-graduation party at the Lockwood manor. Damon had been waiting for her in the coat room, but he wasn't alone. Elena was in his lap, her long sinewy arms wrapped around his neck and a red plastic cup dangling from her right hand. Her back was to Bonnie but she knew it was her best friend—the tell-tale straight chestnut hair, the willowy frame, and the fact that she was wearing the outfit Bonnie had helped her pick out earlier that evening.

Her stomach turned at the sight and the sounds of Elena's moans and sloppy kisses. She wriggled in Damon's lap, eliciting a guttural groan from the blue-eyed vampire as his mouth found the pulse point behind her ear and began to suck.

His eyes were open, though, and trained on Bonnie. He had known she was there, known she would walk in and catch them. It was his trap. And as much as his parading of other girls in front of her had hurt, this _thing_ with Elena—this was betrayal.

"Damon," Elena moaned, her mouth seeking his lips again.

He eagerly complied, kissing her deeply as he continued to stare at Bonnie, challenging her to say something, to _do_ something. Magic jumped in her fingertips but she refused to move, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her in pain, even though being witness to this act was tearing her heart in twain.

Then something glinted in Damon's eyes and his hands went to Elena's slender waist. He shifted her weight on top of him, sliding her writhing body against his clothed length, eliciting a whimper from the waffling brunette. She moaned his name into his mouth and began rubbing herself against him of her own free will, attacking his neck with her lips and teeth as she undulated on top of him.

Damon's eyes never left Bonnie. "It was all an act, you know," he said, his lips pressed against the shell of Elena's ear.

"Hmm?" She moaned, wrapping her legs around his waist. The red cup had already dropped from her hand onto the bed, discarded and forgotten as she lost herself in the feel of his body beneath hers.

"Being with Bonnie," he said, bringing her down harder along the length of his shaft. "It was all an act, just to pass away the time and make you jealous."

His eyes crinkled into a mocking grin as he continued to stare Bonnie down. But Bonnie said nothing and Elena continued to moan and sigh, revelling in Damon's touch as his hands freely roamed her body.

"You fucking bastard!"

Elena gasped and snapped head around, eyes widening in surprise and then panic. Even Bonnie gasped a little at the sight of Stefan standing next to her in the doorway. His eyes were red and the black veins had spidered to the surface. His canines protruded from his gums and he growled lowly in his throat, suddenly lunging forward.

She could only watch as Elena shrieked and jumped off Damon. Stefan flew on top of his older brother and began beating the dark-haired vampire senseless with his fists. Elena whimpered, telling at them both to stop, not even realising at all that Bonnie was in the room. She was too wrapped up in her own drama—two brothers fighting over her, as always.

But as Stefan's and Elena's attention was fixed on Damon, his was solely focussed on Bonnie; mocking her like this was her fault. He just lay there, letting Stefan beat him while Elena screamed and cried and begged them stop, his gaze never leaving the one person he truly wanted to hurt.

Bonnie.

Swallowing thickly, she turned around in a daze. She had to leave. She had to get out of this place as fast as she could before she did something she'd truly regret, like kill her ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend.

**: : : :**

SHE WASN'T SURE how she had got home, only that she was now sitting on the swing on the front porch, absently swaying as she stared out into the darkness.

She was lost.

"Bonnie?"

She shook her head and snapped out of her daze, only to see Stefan standing on her doorstep. She couldn't see any cuts or bruises on his face or hands, but his collar was torn and his hair was dishevelled—the only signs of the brothers' brawl.

"Are you okay?"

"I should be asking you that question." His hazel eyes met hers, softening sympathetically, and he took a step up the stairs. "I'm so sorry, Bonnie. Damon shouldn't have—" he raked his fingers through his hair "—I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," she said, tilting her head and offering him a weak smile. "Damon's Damon."

He nodded, as if this was the only real answer, and let out a long-suffering sigh before joining her on the swing. "I know this is probably an insensitive question to ask right now, but why didn't you react?"

"I didn't?" she asked, and he slowly shook his head with a smirk.

"The Bonnie I know would have set Damon's ass on fire."

She shrugged lazily. "I was too shocked at the time to think about doing that."

"Too bad." He leaned back on the swing and crossed his legs at the ankles. "He certainly deserved it."

"I'm sorry, Stefan."

He sat up quickly, his brow knitting in confusion. "Sorry? What for?"

"For Elena," she said softly, and found that she had really meant it. Stefan didn't deserve to be in the middle of this absurd triangle or square any more than she did. But the fact remained that she was the one who had broken up with Damon and incurred his emotional and psychological wrath, not Stefan. Why could Damon never see the consequences of his actions? Why was his man-pain so much more important than anyone else's?

"Don't be," he said, settling back. "I saw it coming—the way they acted around one another. I shouldn't have left with Klaus."

"Maybe that was a good thing." She shrugged when he shot her an incredulous look. "Now you know where her loyalties lie."

"Are you speaking for me or yourself?"

"Both?"

The two stared at each other for a moment, silently pitying the other and themselves. Both had done so much for Elena and Damon and this was how they were rewarded? Maybe there was such a thing as being too loyal—or at least loyal without reason.

"I don't know what hold these two have over each other," he said, breaking the silence, "but I think Damon did what he did tonight to make you jealous. It was less about having Elena and more about hurting you."

She bowed her head and tapped her fingers along the edge of the swing. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"No." He slowly rocked them back and forth. "Just thinking out loud."

"Speaking of thinking out loud—" she let her legs dangle in the air "—why aren't you defending Elena?"

"Should I be?"

She nodded. "You normally do."

"I should probably stop doing that, shouldn't I?" She nodded again. "She's not a child. She can make her own decisions—often stupid ones—and no matter how drunk she was or the fact that you and Damon weren't dating anymore, she shouldn't have done what she did. Not to you."

"She shouldn't have done that to you, Stefan." She tentatively placed a hand on his knee before quickly removing it. "Neither should have Damon. He's your brother."

This time Stefan reached over and patted her knee, holding his hand there. "I think we've got it backwards." She cocked a quizzical eyebrow at him. "Aren't you supposed to hate Elena and I'm supposed to hate my brother?"

Bonnie shook her head and sniffed. "I'm too tired to hate, Stefan. I just want the feelings to go away."

"That would be easier," he agreed, before bending down so that he could look her in the eye. "Wait—Bonnie, you're not going to do a spell, are you?"

"I hadn't thought about it—until you just mentioned it."

He threw up his hands. "Forget I mentioned it." She laughed hollowly, or at least it sounded hollow to her ears, and then Stefan's expression became sombre again. "Look, Bonnie, I know this hurts and I'm not trying to trivialise your pain, but Damon isn't worth any of this. He isn't worth changing yourself, even if it's just to forget."

"That's funny coming from you, Mr I Turned Off My Humanity."

He shrugged, unaffected by her slight. "That just means I know what I'm talking about."

"Do you?" Anger rumbled in her belly. "You're still fighting for Elena even though she's obviously in love with your brother and can't bother to choose between the two of you.

"If she truly loved you, Stefan, she wouldn't be waffling in the first place, and you know it. So instead of cutting your losses and walking away, you stay. For what, Stefan? Measly breadcrumbs? Is that how highly you place her and how little you view yourself?"

"Wow," he exhaled slowly, and she instantly regretted opening her mouth. She was directing her contempt at the wrong person, and rather hypocritically too. How often had she placed Elena's happiness and well-fare above her own? "That's quite the picture you've painted. Am I really that pathetic?"

She shook her head almost demurely. "No more pathetic than myself by still being in love with your bastard of a brother."

And she was—she was still in love with a man who would always hurt her, who would always see her as his second choice. Second best. It was ironic, tragically ironic, if she thought about it. Was she really in love with someone who could so easily and wantonly break her heart? Was she a masochist? Was she mental?

She had no right to pass judgement over Stefan. At least he had the excuse of falling in love with a girl who had the same face as his first love (or the love who had compelled him). But then again that really was just an excuse—one she didn't want to examine at this particular moment. She doubted Stefan wanted to, either.

"We need a fresh start," she said, pushing back on the swing, and he absently nodded.

"I agree, but no spells on yourself." He pointed a warning finger at her. "Don't cop out like I did by making yourself not feel, or remember. You're stronger than me, Bonnie. You're stronger than all of us."

"You're probably right."

In this moment, though, she felt anything but strong. However, the one thing Bonnie had learnt since becoming a witch was self-control. She almost always gave into logic and reason rather than emotions and chaos. She could feign being strong and stoic quite well. Maybe even in a few years she could put Stefan's brooding skills to shame.

"And you've got a bigger heart than most of us, too," he reminded her, placing his hand on hers.

She looked down at his large hand, its cool skin feeling so much like Damon's yet not, and she squeezed it gently. "Stefan, I've decided that I'm going to leave town."

He didn't say anything at first. He didn't even seem alarmed at her announcement. Then, after a moment, he nodded and squeezed her hand back. "How are you going to keep Damon from following you?"

"Oh, I have my ways." When he gave her an uneasy look, she almost laughed in his face. "Don't worry, Stefan, I won't kill your brother."

"I don't know. I might be amenable to the idea right now."

This time she did laugh, a slight giggle that made her heart hurt. The two held hands for a little while longer, staring out into the darkness, and then she finally let go and stood to her feet.

"Stefan, if I—if I give you my new address, will you come visit me?"

She and Stefan had never been that close but they had always had a mutual respect for one another, and right now she felt like he was the only one who truly understood her. He wouldn't condemn her for not hating Damon when she really should have, and though he loved Elena, he had also been hurt by her. Unlike with Caroline and Matt, no matter how much they would sympathise with Bonnie, there would be no sides with Stefan. Just support.

"Of course I will," he said, standing up. "Despite everything, I'd like to think that we can still be friends."

"We can," she said with a smile. "I'd like that."

"Good. Me too."

She then gave him curt wave and headed for the door. "Goodnight, Stefan."

"Goodnight, Bonnie."

A second later he was gone, off to tend to his own personal heartache while leaving Bonnie with her own.

**: : : :**

SHE SPENT THE next few days holed up in her house, ignoring Elena's missed calls and texts that begged for her forgiveness. At first she had blamed Damon for the drunken tryst, insisting he had taken advantage of her in her inebriated state, and then she countered that her and Damon fooling around, though inappropriate, was okay since he and Bonnie had broken up and Stefan had still refused to take her back.

Though Bonnie didn't ignore or downplay Damon's involvement and mostly likely instrumentation of events, all Elena was giving her were excuses and she didn't care whether they were hers or Damon's. She was mad at them both and even with herself a little, but mostly she was tired of it all. She was tired of the needless drama that never seemed to end. She wasn't sure if she'd ever forgive Elena for what she had done, but she had come to realise that she was okay with not knowing. She didn't need to be Elena's martyr.

With Caroline agreeing to give Bonnie her space, and trying her best not to take it personally, she had spent her time at home making plans. She had asked her father if it would be okay for her to spend her summer vacation with her cousin, Jeshanah, in Toronto. Surprisingly, Rudy had not only encouraged the trip but had suggested that she visit Montréal, too, and check out McGill University.

She had kept it a secret from all her friends, except Matt, that she had applied to the school in the first place. She had done it just to see if she could get in, and she had. McGill was one of the leading universities in Linguistics and it even had a fairly decent Occult Studies, or so she had heard from her grams, who had given a guest lecture there once.

For the past few months Bonnie had collected a whole stack of acceptance letters yet she still had to select a college. She had always assumed that she would go to Whitmore, the same college her grams had lectured at, but something had prevented her from accepting the early admission. She had called it a witch's intuition, but damn it all if the worried feeling hadn't come to pass. Both Damon and Elena had betrayed her and now she had no excuse to stay in Virginia.

Grams would have wanted her to go to Whitmore, but Bonnie just couldn't be anywhere near Elena and Damon right now. She needed a fresh start, to get away far and fast, and Canada seemed far enough without leaving the continent. Shockingly her father had agreed and was willing to pay the international tuition fees, which roughly worked out to be the same she would have paid to attend college in the States.

She had always wondered if her father knew about the other supernaturals in town. The fact that he was almost pushing a foreign school on her told her that he did indeed know, and Rudy Hopkins wanted his little girl to be safe and happy. Mystic Falls and the state of Virginia in general were anything but safe and happy for Bonnie Bennett.

Her father had ordered her a round-trip ticket to Toronto and lent her the emergency credit card, as well as gave her some spending money for food, clothes and other expenses. She was glad for the extra cash because she intended to have a little fun in the city with her cousin before settling back into school life.

She had already said her goodbyes to Matt, Tyler and a tearful Caroline, who begged and even threatened Bonnie to keep in touch and visit on breaks or else she'd haunt her steps to the end of her days. She had agreed to come back before school started and spend some quality Caro-Bon time.

Admittedly, Caroline was her best friend and the person she was going to miss the most, aside from her dad. If she could have stayed in Mystic Falls for anyone, it would have been for Caroline. But she couldn't stay, and she was glad that Caroline had Tyler and that both were capable enough to keep themselves and Matt safe.

Now that the hours were quickly dwindling down to departure time, she found herself standing in front of the boarding house. There was only one last person to say goodbye too.

"So you're really going?" Stefan asked, casually leaning against the opened door.

"Yup." She clapped her hands together. "My cousin promised to give me the grand tour, although she's trying to convince me to apply for U of T for the winter semester. She's not a big fan of Montréal or McGill."

"Wait, you mean Canadians don't get along with each other?"

"Sometimes—or so I've heard." She lifted her arms. "I'm ready for stereotypes to be smashed, although from how my cousin talks, I think the love of all things hockey is one-hundred percent accurate."

He chuckled softly and pushed off the door frame. "Hey, I know there's no point in asking you if you'll be all right, because I know you will be, but are you—are you all right, Bonnie?"

She glanced down at her feet and wriggled her toes in her sandals, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth to stop from faltering. She knew she always gave off the strong woman vibe, like it was embedded in her DNA, but it was nice to know that someone cared enough to see through the cracks in her veneer.

"I'll be fine," she said, lifting her chin to offer him a watery smile. "Besides, I intend to have some much-needed fun while in the Great White North."

"Good." He smiled. "You deserve some fun."

"So do you."

He inhaled unnecessarily and nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. "So, are you going to give me your new address when you settle in?"

"I promised I would, didn't I?" He inclined his head reluctantly. "I'll be getting a new phone when I move to Montréal, so don't go blocking any unfamiliar area codes, okay?"

He smiled gently at her, the kind of smile that never quite reached the eyes, and that's when she knew he had something on his mind—something Elena or Damon-shaped.

"What about Elena?" he asked. "Will she be part of the group who knows your new address and phone number?"

Bonnie frowned. "Not right now, no."

"Do you think you'll ever forgive Elena?"

"Will you?"

He shrugged uncomfortably. "Maybe . . . in time."

She echoed his statement and this time he really did smile, a sad smile that spoke volumes of understanding.

"So when do _you_ plan on leaving?" she asked him, and he shifted slightly on his feet.

"Soon. I just have to make sure that Damon'll have things under control with Klaus temporarily gone and Katherine popping up again."

Klaus had taken his doppelgänger blood and ran to New Orleans, intent on finding werewolves there to make hybrids loyal to him since Tyler had been such a bust as a sire.

"How about killing her?" Damon offered, coming up from behind them with a glass of bourbon in his hand. "Does killing Katherine count as keeping her under control?"

He lifted his glass in salutations at Bonnie, letting his eyes unabashedly rake over her form as if they didn't have this bad blood between them. She tried to keep her face expressionless but on the inside she was seething with righteous anger. How could she have ever loved this heartless, smug bastard? How could she _still_ love him?

"Well, I had better get going," she said, nodding to Stefan and ignoring Damon entirely.

"Not going to say goodbye to me, _Bon-Bon_?"

She stopped at the sound of him saying his term of endearment for her so bitterly and turned around. She met his eyes, so full of scorn and derision, and she forced a thin smile on her lips. "Goodbye, Damon."

Without looking back, she left for her car. She had barely made it to the driver's side door when she felt an unnatural breeze lift up her skirt and the whisper of Damon speeding in front of her.

"We're not done yet, Bonnie," he threatened, taking a step forward so that she had to stumble back. He was livid, absolutely furious with her, and it made her blood boil with indignation. How dare he be mad at _her_!

"Yes we are, Damon," she said, holding her ground. "I broke up with you and you dry-humped Elena right in front of me just to spite me!"

"Well, maybe not _just_," he added with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows, and she had to dig her nails into her palms just to stop herself from slapping him.

"We're the definition of done, Damon. Over. Bridges have been burned. The earth has been salted. There's nothing left to say."

Inhaling sharply, she released her fists and tried to walk past him, but he wouldn't let her go. He stepped in even closer, using his body to intimidate and invade her space, blocking all escape routes.

"We're over because _you_ dumped me," he growled, "not the other way around. So don't try to pin the blame on me. I didn't cheat on you with Elena. You dumped me to fuck some other guy, so I just gave you a little taste of your own medicine."

"Really, Damon? Really?" It took all her will power not to set him on fire. Instead she jabbed her index finger into his chest. "I didn't dump you to fuck someone else." She threw her hands up. "As you can see, I'm still single."

He opened his mouth to interrupt but she wouldn't let him.

"I didn't break up with you to be with someone else, Damon. So you trying to get into Elena's pants wasn't teaching me a lesson. I didn't feel cheated on. I felt betrayed! I _was_ betrayed!"

"Then you know how I feel!" he roared back. "How I felt!"

"No, Damon, I don't." She shook her head, as if that action alone could hold back her tears. She wasn't going to cry in front of him. She refused. "_I_ didn't play on your insecurities. _I_ didn't dry-hump someone like Jeremy in front of you. _I_ didn't do that while telling you our whole relationship was a fucking joke—that I was dating you just to get close to him!"

Her voice had pitched at the end, her chest heaving as she balled her hands into fists so that they wouldn't tremble at her sides. She hadn't allowed herself to properly mourn their relationship and now all the pain and sadness and betrayal were rushing at her all at once. She hadn't even noticed that she was crying until she felt the wet saline drip down her chin, yet she refused to wipe the tears away.

Damon, however, just stood there, slack-jawed. Strangely mute. The anger was slowly draining from his body but this only made her angrier.

"Then why did you date me?" he finally asked, and she laughed pitifully. He really didn't get it.

"Because I liked you, Damon! Because I felt something for you!"

"And now?" he suddenly pressed. "What about now?"

He looked so vulnerable, so exposed. This was her opportunity to burn him the way he had burned her, but she couldn't. She just couldn't.

"Even now," she admitted with a sniff, "you make it really hard to hate you."

His shoulders instantly dropped and he took a step closer, bringing his hands to her tear-streaked face. "But you don't, do you? You don't hate me?"

She shook her head in his hands. She felt pitiful and foolish. This wasn't her. What had he made her? "No, I hate myself for falling in love with you, for still loving you despite every cruel thing you've ever done to me."

"You . . ." He paused and swallowed thickly, letting the pads of his thumbs wipe away the tears on her cheeks. "Then why did you break up with me?"

She tried to snort but it sounded more like a garbled whimper. "Isn't it obvious?" He tilted his head, as if to say no, and she tore herself away from his grasp. "I fell in love with someone who's obsessed with my best friend." She wrapped her arms around herself and shook her head slowly. "It wasn't going to end well, for me."

"So you ran away?"

"I took a page out of the Damon Salvatore handbook." She threw up her hands. "And look at what good it did me."

"Exactly!" he huffed, grabbing her by the arms. "Don't try to be like me."

She shook out of his grip and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "Yeah, thanks. Good advice." She lowered her head and walked past him. "Bye, Damon."

"No, wait!" He grabbed her by the elbow and spun her around to face him. "I'm sorry about Elena. I was angry. I thought you had used me. I wanted to get even. I wanted to make you jealous."

"Mission accomplished."

He shook his head. "You don't understand."

"I'd ask you to make me understand, but I really don't care anymore, Damon." She shook her head. "I really don't."

"Yeah, well I do," he said angrily, before cupping her face. "I do care for you, Bonnie. I just wish you'd believe that, wish you had once believed that."

"I wish I could have believed it, too." She reached up to touch his hands, gripping them in hers as she lowered them from her face. "I wish we weren't who we are. I wish you didn't hold onto heartbreak the way you do, letting it poison and control you.

"You're so much better than this, Damon. Yet you refuse to see it, refuse to let others see your potential. You set the bar so low that no one can ever be disappointed." She let go of his hands and gently caressed his face. "You should never let yourself be someone's second choice, Damon. Never."

He opened his mouth and then closed it, and then brought her other hand up to his face. "I know you won't take me back, but I won't let you forget me, Bonnie Bennett. You're my new obsession."

She stared at him strangely for a moment, in shock, and then shook her head. A tiny smile angled across her lips and she whispered, "I really wish I wasn't."

He smiled and leaned in close, and for a second nothing happened except a hackling, barely perceptible change in the atmosphere. And then his lips were brushing against hers with a gentle sort of pressure that seemed too delicate to be real.

Her first thought was to resist but his lips slowly coaxed hers open and she unwittingly obeyed, feeling his tongue slip into her mouth and steal along her teeth. She closed her eyes and swore she could taste colours: silver-blue and blood-red, the taste of Damon.

His hands slid along her cheeks and over her ears, finding the back of her neck where he held her into the kiss. Her own hands had found his chest, working their way up to the collar of his shirt and pulling him in close, as his fingers curled into her hair, seeking purchase on the silky tendrils. She moaned into his mouth like a sigh before reluctantly breaking the kiss.

She sucked in the necessary air that seemed different somehow—changed, thickened and coiling in her gut. She brought her fingers to her lips and simply studied his eyes. His pupils were dilated to the point where there was only a thin ring of blue and her gaze dropped to his perfectly shaped mouth.

Was this thrall?

Why did he always have to affect her this way? Why couldn't she just let him go? Why couldn't he let her go? And as they continued to stare at each other, breathing quietly as they catalogued each other's features, she was struck with the thought that this was almost like a challenge, to see who would give in first.

"Don't go," he finally said in surrender, stealing another kiss so gentle that it made her want to weep. "Stay. Let's work this out, cure me of my stupidity and work on us. Please, Bonnie?"

He almost never begged her, not like this, not for something _he_ wanted. And she knew he wanted her, wanted a clean slate, but she couldn't start fresh with him. She wouldn't be another obsession. She wanted love, true love, and she wasn't about to settle for anything less.

"I'm going to do you one last favour," she said, gently stroking his cheek, and he moved his head to kiss her fingers.

"My little witch," he said, taking her hands in his, "always so giving and forgiving." Another kiss to each knuckled digit. "Why? Why is that?"

"Because it's who I am." She smiled. "It's who I'll always be."

He smiled back and bent down, nudging his nose along hers. "I don't deserve you."

"And that will always been your problem, Damon," she whispered. "Love doesn't deserve. It doesn't take. It's given freely."

"Is that what you're giving me?" he asked. "Your love, freely?"

She gave him her most winning smile and reached up to hold his head in her hands. "Damon, I am going to give you a clean state. You're going to forget all the betrayal you felt at the hands of Katherine and the inadequacies you were made to endure because of your father. All of it. All of the pain that held you back. You're going to be a better friend and a better brother to Stefan. And you're going to forget all about me."

His eyes had widened in surprise at the last part and he was already pulling back from her, but her hold on him was too strong, her magic too powerful to break. She whispered the words, the spell she had promised Stefan that she would never use on herself, and then she sealed it with a kiss.

When all was said and done, Damon closed his eyes and fell unceremoniously to the ground. She had watched his body pitch forward, making no attempt to catch him, and then glanced up to see Stefan standing in front of her.

"I guess I'm not strong enough after all," she told him sadly, as he crouched down next to his brother.

"No . . ." He paused. "You're just sort of amazing, Bonnie Bennett."

She tilted her head to the side. "Only sort of?"

He chuckled softly and stood up. Her eyes briefly went to Damon's unconscious form, feeling a tinge of guilt, before shifting back to Stefan, who was already walking over to her.

"Enjoy this fresh start, Bonnie," he said. "Take advantage of it. Savour it." He folded her into a hug. "You really do deserve it."

She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, holding him tightly for a moment before breaking apart. "Thanks, Stefan." She held him out at arm's length and offered him a genuine smile. "Take care, okay?"

He nodded. "Till we meet again."

Then she turned away and left, not once bothering to look back. She couldn't look back. She wouldn't. Instead, she got into her car and drove away, leaving Damon and Mystic Falls behind.

**: : : :**


	3. Smooth Sailing

**A/N:** Apologies in advance for the infodump(s): a sometimes necessary evil with multiple time-jumps. ;)

* * *

IT HAD BEEN rough seas at first for Bonnie, not just moving on to university but moving to a new country. She was making her way in the world, studying new things and meeting new people, of the non-supernatural variety.

It was as exciting as it was stressful, and underneath it all was this undercurrent of loneliness. She missed her friends, she missed her family, she missed her home. God help her, she even missed the danger that she had allowed herself to be constantly placed in every day.

Worst of all was the lingering heartache over letting Damon go. The feeling just wouldn't go away. It was still there underneath the surface, hooking through her skin like a needle darning a sock. Most days she could push the worrisome thoughts aside, like if he had truly forgot her and if he had gone back to Elena—he had, on both counts. Other days it felt like she was falling, like the bottom had dropped out of her stomach and her heart had somehow lodged up in her throat.

Despite it all, life had gone on for Bonnie. After all she was made to endure these sorts of things—to shrug off the pain and the sorrow and to shoulder the burden of others, wearing responsibility around her like a death-shroud. It was inescapable.

Eventually she had made new friends and discovered things about herself she had never known before, like the fact that she actually enjoyed studying Linguistics. Morphology, phonology, syntax—they actually made her magic stronger. Everything had become clearer, easier to understand. The words of the spells took on a whole new meaning now and her magic had evolved. It had become as natural as breathing.

She had even managed to connect with another witch, _another_ Bonnie: Bonnie May McCullough, to be precise. She was a bubbly young psychic with red hair and wide brown eyes and who Bonnie affectionately referred to as Mei Mei.

The two had met during their _Introduction to Witchcraft, Paganism and the Occult_ class at the beginning of the Fall semester. Their meeting had been electrifying, quite literally. The power in the building had surged and then dimmed; fluorescent lights exploded overhead and sparks flew everywhere. In an instant both girls knew who the other was and what power they both possessed, and that they were destined to become friends.

And so eventually life had returned to a state of normalcy for Bonnie Bennett, or as normal as it could get for her. It was like being transported to a time when vampires and doppelgängers didn't consume her every waking hour and she finally had time to focus on herself.

Yet she could never avoid the supernatural world and she began to understand that she didn't have to avoid it or who she was in order to be happy. She could just be herself, and that was more than enough.

**: : : :**

"I CAN'T BELIEVE you had an affair with a vampire!" Mei Mei sighed wistfully, curling a strawberry-blonde lock around her index finger. "That's so romantic."

"No, it's really not," Bonnie said, shooting her friend a pointed look before slipping her tablet into her tote bag. "Mei Mei, you really need to get over your fascination with vampires and death."

"Says the girl who lived in a melting pot of the sexy supernatural!"

"Exactly—that's why you should take my advice. I know what I'm talking about." She closed the flap with a sigh. "Vampires are dangerous, Mei Mei. Don't ever forget that."

"What about Caroline and Stefan?"

Bonnie frowned thoughtfully. "They're exceptions."

"Mhm." The redhead lifted an eyebrow in scepticism. "And this mysterious vampire ex-boyfriend who will not be named—what about him? Is he an exception?"

"Hardly." Bonnie scoffed. "He was dangerous and psychotic."

"And now?"

"Probably the same. I don't know. I don't keep track of him anymore." She pushed away her half-eaten plate of fries. "I haven't talked to him since I left Mystic Falls."

Mei Mei scrunched up her nose in incredulity. "But there must have been something good about him for you to date him. Right?"

"I guess." She shrugged and then sighed irritably. "Look, Mei Mei, I don't want to talk about Damon."

"Ah-ha! He has a name!" The redhead threw up her arms in victory before resting her chin on folded hands. "Damon, huh? Sounds sexy." Big brown eyes widened in sudden realisation. "Wait—where have I heard that name before?"

"He's Stefan's older brother."

"Older brother, eh?" The younger girl waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "How much older are we talking about here? A few years? A decade? Is he as dreamy as Stefan?" She sighed wistfully again, most likely lost in naughty Stefan thoughts, which made Bonnie squirm uncomfortably in her seat.

Although the red-haired Bonnie McCullough was roughly the same build as Bonnie Bennett, with fewer curves, she had a much more innocent and almost child-like appearance, what with her small face and large brown eyes and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose that just screamed little waif child. She was so fragile-looking that sometimes Bonnie forgot that the girl was only seven months younger than herself. On occasions like these, Bonnie felt considerably ancient in comparison to her Canadian friend.

"Down, girl," she warned, noting the enraptured look on the redhead's face.

"I can't help it, Bee," she whined. "Stefan is like my Edward Cullen."

"Oh God!" Bonnie dry-retched. "Please don't say stuff like that ever again or you can no longer be my friend."

"Meanie!" She made to swipe at the brunette. "What if I said he's my Bee Cumber?"

Bonnie pursed her lips in idle consideration. "I wouldn't object to that analogy, although I don't really get the reference. How is Stefan like Benedict Cumberbach?"

"Uhm, well," the redhead floundered. "He has thick, wavy hair that you just want to spear your fingers through."

"Mmm, true." The two girls stared off in the distance and sighed simultaneously before Bonnie shook her head in disgust. "Gah! Now I'm gonna end up having inappropriate dreams about Stefan and Bee Cumber thanks to you!"

"You're welcome," she said with a big grin, before breaking down in a fit of giggles. "We're such Cumberbitches."

Bonnie snorted. "Better than being death-lovers."

"Only according to you!"

"Mei Mei," Bonnie sighed. She was about to go into full lecture-mode when her phone beeped, signally that she had less than fifteen minutes to get to class. "Damn, I've got to get to class!" She jumped up from her seat and shot the redhead a big smile. "See you at the coven meeting tonight?"

"Mhm! I'm gonna to bring fudge!"

"Wow, what a _productive_ day for you."

"Hey! I'm also going to look for an apartment for us!"

The two of them had decided to get an apartment together for their second year, but Mei Mei was a lot like Caroline in some respects. She was already looking for a place even though it was barely April and they didn't need an apartment until August.

"Thanks, Mei Mei." Bonnie picked up her food tray to take to the trash. "You're the best."

"I know." The redhead beamed. "Have fun at class!"

"Yeah, I'll try."

Bonnie weaved her way through the campus buildings, dreading the upcoming lecture. Generally she loved all of her classes, being a bit of a nerd and all, but this one was a mandatory _Introduction to Essay-Writing_ course, and she felt insulted that she had to take it. She already knew how to write essays and she didn't need some bitch of a professor to tell her how. A professor who carried the philosophy that university would be better without the students.

Aside from this one class, the rest of her courses were going well. She kept high marks, averaging in the high eighties and low nineties, and still managed to make friends and go to parties and clubs and be a relatively normal teenager. She even got to be a supernatural teenager who practised magic and was part of an actual coven.

Montréal didn't have much in the way of a supernatural community. Witches who did practise didn't really strictly adhere to the more traditional venues of magic that Bonnie was used to, particularly nature and spirit magic. But there were other forms of ancestral and even shaman magic in the city, derived from existing and pre-existing First Nations communities. There was also a considerable Haitian population who had their own form of witchcraft: vodou.

Bonnie had begun to dabble in them all while still maintaining the traditional magic she was taught, which included drawing energy from the forces of nature itself. Thanks to all of her practice in Mystic Falls, she had been able to temper her own energy and control her magic on a level she had never been able to master before (no more nosebleeds for her!), and she even managed to teach her new witch friends a thing or two.

Establishing a coven, however, had been a tad more difficult. But the girls had managed to find other witches to join, older witches who could teach them things they wouldn't have been able to learn on their own. They had even heard from witches from other covens in other cities and towns across the province and country—men and women willing to travel and practise with them.

Everything was finally going her way for once.

Just as she reached her classroom and sat down, her phone rang. Typical. Physically unable to _not_ answer her phone because she was a teenage girl, Bonnie pulled it out of her purse and looked at the contact number. A big goofy grin spread across her lips and she clicked on the accept button.

"Stefan! How the hell are you? _Where_ the hell are you?"

A few students gave her weird looks but she ignored them.

"I'm in Dartmoor, a national park in south Devon."

"Devon, England?"

"Yup."

Stefan had moved to Europe shortly after Bonnie left. He had gone to Italy first, which was where she assumed he still was, when not visiting her or Caroline. As promised he had kept in contact with her when she left for Montréal and even dropped in a few times. The two had talked on the phone regularly, usually about witch stuff as the vampire seemed to be on a witches' kick.

"I'd love to talk more, Stef, but I have class in five minutes," she told him, half covering her mouth as though this could prevent others from hearing her. "Can I call you back later, or is this urgent?"

"No, no, you can call me back later. I don't want to keep you. I just called to ask how you were doing."

When she and Stefan had left Mystic Falls, Damon and Elena had got together shortly thereafter. Unresolved feelings and all that. Plus, Damon had no memory of Bonnie and Elena had been more than willing to join in the ruse. To be fair, Bonnie had contacted Caroline and Matt and told them what she had done and that it would be best for everyone involved if they never mentioned her in Damon's presence. They had reluctantly agreed and Bonnie essentially became a ghost.

Still, Stefan always seemed to feel bad about it, like he had been complicit in Bonnie erasing her own identity, so every now and then his phone calls would consist of checking up on her, to see if she was okay. He still wasn't processing the whole Damon-Elena relationship very well and he assumed that she wasn't, either. To be honest, she was and she wasn't, but she didn't want him worrying about that anymore.

"I'm doing great. Classes are going well. I'm having fun with my new friends. I've been working on my . . . cookbook," she said covertly, in case there were any nosey eavesdroppers. "Everything's fine, Stefan. You don't need to worry about me."

"Yeah, I know that. I was less checking in on you and more looking for the right segue to invite you and Bonnie 2.0 to come visit me in England. After exams, of course, and I'll pay for everything. Think of it as a belated birthday gift."

Bonnie opened her mouth and then closed it before laughing. "Well, I'll have to check with Bonnie _2.0_, but I think she'd freak out—literally. She has a grams who lives in Scotland who she talks about constantly."

"We could tour the UK; check out Stonehenge and other stuff. There's lots of magic and occult stuff out here. Up for learning about Druids?"

"I'd love that!" She couldn't stop from grinning. A few of the other students were openly staring at her now and the professor was giving her the stink eye from the podium. "I've got to go now, but I'll call you later and we can talk more about this. You, sir, are awesome!"

He chuckled on the other end of the line. "Okay, talk to you soon."

"Bye!"

She quickly turned off the phone and stuffed it into her bag before taking out her tablet. When the lecture finally began, it became very hard for her to concentrate. Thoughts of trips to magical hotspots across the United Kingdom were bouncing through her head. It turned out that life after Mystic Falls was indeed possible, and maybe even turning out to be a little wonderful.

**: : : :**

DAMON'S LIFE WAS damn-near perfect.

He had everything he ever wanted: a home to belong to, his enemies relatively in check, a woman to love and who loved him back, and a little brother who was willing to forgive him for his past predilections to destroy what he had or couldn't have.

He was happier and freer than he had felt in a long time, yet at the same time there was this niggling thought at the back of his mind that told him something was missing. The catharsis he had expected from 'winning' Elena was far from the recent anxiety he had found. It had begun to bother him a little, this worrying feeling unravelling in his gut telling him that something wasn't quite right, that sometime soon the other shoe was about to drop.

"Hello, Damon."

The dark-haired vampire shifted in his seat and glanced up at the sight of Stefan standing in the doorway. He looked the same as he always did, except his eyes seemed a little less haunted and he smiled a bit easier. He looked happy.

A smile angled across Damon's lips at the welcomed sight and he stood up. "Hey, little brother. What brings you home?"

"I happened to be visiting the continent," he said, lifting his hands in a shrug, "so I thought I'd drop by and say hi—_hi_."

Damon's smile morphed into a grin and he made his way around to the bar, pouring himself a tumbler of bourbon. He offered Stefan a glass, but he politely declined with a wave of his hand.

"Actually, I came to get a few things from my room and some books from the library." He stepped past the threshold and held up a little pink bag. "Plus I brought Caroline her birthday gifts."

"Oh, right," Damon drawled with a roll of his eyes. "You're still friends with her?"

He had made it a point to ignore everything in Caroline's life, including her birthday, seeing how she vehemently despised the fact that he was currently dating her best friend, and she never let him forget it. Weirder still was that she made her displeasure with Elena known, too. But she was Stefan's best friend so she got a pass for being a bitch . . . sometimes.

"So Barbie's turning, what now, eight?"

"Twenty, technically."

Damon nodded, not really caring, and walked over to his little brother. "So what did you get her?"

"This?" He held up the prettily decorated bag. "This isn't from me. It's from . . . a friend."

Damon raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Well, that didn't sound cryptic at all." He surreptitiously nicked the bag from Stefan's hands. "Is this friend _yours_ or Caroline's?"

"Both?"

"A girl?" he asked, rooting around in the bag before pulling his hand back in a hiss of pain. Whatever he touched had burned him! Stefan quickly snatched it away. "What the hell kind of present is that? Is it laced with vervain or something? What kind of friend would give a vampire _that_?"

"It's not laced with vervain," Stefan said, carefully placing the wrapped present back inside its bag. "It's just warded against snoops like you. This gift is meant for Caroline."

"Warded?" His brow furrowed in deep confusion before it dawned on him. "Is that a witch's gift? Stefan, is your _mutual_ friend a witch?"

His little brother shrugged uncomfortably. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" he repeated scornfully. He didn't know whether to laugh, be impressed or slightly miffed. How the hell was someone like Caroline friends with a witch? And why was his brother keeping this a secret from him? "Are you and Barbie keeping a witch all to yourselves?"

"Damon, just drop it."

"Why? You don't want me to know that you have a witch friend, unless . . . Whoa! You _like_ this girl, don't you? This witch girl who gives booby-trapped presents." Suddenly it all made sense—why his brother was never around anymore, always off on some secret adventure. "So who is she? Is she hot? How old is she? What's her name? Where does she live? Is she hot?"

"It's none of your business." Stefan was giving him the whole 'this conversation is over' look and Damon sighed irritably. He was no fun.

"Fine, whatever." He'd let his little brother have this round. "It's not like you need to worry about me sniffing after what's yours."

Stefan snorted. "Yeah right, like you've never sniffed after what's mine before."

"Hey!" Damon pointed an accusing finger at his brother. "If you're talking about Elena, you gave me your permission. You two weren't even going out at the time." He shrugged. "Besides, you had Katherine."

"Right, Katherine," Stefan mumbled, before inhaling sharply. "Anyway, I'm gonna go find those books." He turned to leave, but before he could head towards the library Damon had called out to him.

"Hey, Stefan! Why don't you stay for a bit?" Stefan shot him a quizzical look. "After you visit Caroline at Whitmore, call me. We can go out for drinks or stay in. I bought some of the good stuff." He held up his glass with a wink. "What do you say—brothers' night in?"

Stefan slowly smiled and nodded. "Sure, Damon."

"Good." He took a healthy sip of his drink and watched his brother eventually disappear into the library. "Good."

He turned around to face the empty fireplace and stared rapturously at the mantle before smiling. He wasn't exactly sure why, but he was pleased with himself. It felt like ages since he and Stefan had properly sat down and had a talk with one another. Plus with Elena off at Whitmore, it would be nice to spend some time with someone who didn't talk about school or the mundane subjects of the human endeavour.

It was time he reconnected with his little brother.

**: : : :**

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CARE-BEAR!" Bonnie yelled into the phone, doing her own little Snoopy dance when Caroline squealed in delight. "How does it feel to be perpetually seventeen?"

"I'm just grateful that my breasts came in before I was turned."

Bonnie snorted with laughter. Caroline was fortunate she had turned at the age she did, or the perfectionist in her would have undoubtedly found something wrong with being turned a year earlier or a year later.

"Stefan gave me your gift and I love it! I also love the fact that it burned Damon."

Bonnie frowned. "It burned Damon?"

"Apparently he was being his grabby kleptomaniac-self and tried to steal your package from Stefan and it burned him." The blonde almost full-on cackled. "Please tell me you did that on purpose!"

"Care, you're evil," Bonnie said, trying not to laugh but failing. "I put a ward on the gift because I didn't want another vampire to claim the spell before you did."

For her birthday Bonnie had given Caroline a small blue-green fluorite pendant shaped like a leaf. She had spelled the crystal to protect its wearer against the effects of vervain, whether that be through touch, smell or ingestion.

"It's so pretty," Caroline cooed. "Plus it's a tiny, so I can put it on a necklace or a bracelet or even wear it as an earring. You know, like a statement: 'I only wear one earring'. Something Prince would do."

_Or a pirate_, Bonnie thought. When Caroline started talking about accessories and colour schemes, the witch slowly tuned her out.

"—and so I drank a phial of vervain and nothing happened!"

"Wait—_what_! You drank pure vervain?"

"Well, I took a little sip at first," Caroline said, sounding a touch guilty. "Okay—so I put a drop in this huge bottle of water and then I took a sip and added more and more vervain to the water until the phial was empty. Baby steps.

"You know I totally I trust your magic and everything, Bonnie, but the fear of excruciating pain is quite the deterrent from, say, taking a swan-dive into a well of vervain-laced water. I'm not brave like Stefan."

The two girls laughed over the shared memory.

"But I wanted you to know that the pendant works perfectly—I put it on a silver chain for now—and I no longer need to fear vervain or some stupid Original trying to compel me."

"Well, I'm glad you liked the gift."

"I _love_ it, Bonnie! I'd love anything you gave me because it'd be from _you_!"

Bonnie tried not to blush.

"So when did you get so good at magic, anyway? I mean, I know you've always been good, but Stefan said this was some pretty heavy duty stuff. High up there on the magic scale or whatever."

It had been a difficult spell and she had created it herself. It had taken her almost two months to figure it out, as well as gather the right ingredients and materials. Admittedly, it had taken her longer than she had expected. But then she didn't have the threat of her own death or someone else's or the destruction of an entire town's looming over her head. The lack of an apocalypse really turned her into a slacker.

"Well, I have been learning lots of new things with my coven."

"And you're new boyfriend?" Caroline prodded, and Bonnie rolled her eyes. She could just see the shit-eating grin on the blonde's face right now.

Caroline and Stefan had met Bonnie's new boyfriend, Iain Quinn, over the summer. He was an Occult Studies graduate student who had originally transferred from the University of Glasgow, where he had studied the migration of witches and Druids from Ireland and the United Kingdom to North America, with a particular focus on Nova Scotia.

He was especially interested in how witches of different factions could come together to create multi-faceted covens in places where witchcraft was less prevalent, and how these communities inherently attracted other supernatural beings, like werewolves and vampires. Bonnie had often wondered the same thing—how witches always seemed to find themselves in the middle of a vampire crisis, or how vampires always seemed to find witches.

It was while having such a discussion that Bonnie had met Iain. He was a practising warlock and had been since he was a small child. His expansive knowledge of all the different forms of witchcraft had impressed her, as well as enticed her to him. It also didn't hurt that he was easy on the eyes. He looked like a young Cillian Murphy, with his pale complexion and his dark wavy hair, full lips and the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. They had been dating ever since the beginning of the Fall term.

"I might have learned a thing or two from him, too," she told Caroline, who squealed scandalously.

"I'm sure you did, you slut!"

"Caroline!"

"What? There's nothing wrong with being a slut for your man."

"I guess." She shrugged uncomfortably, glad that Iain was currently in the shower and not listening to this increasingly embarrassing conversation.

"I'm happy for you, Bonnie, really. You know I tease you because I love you, right? I just wish you were here going to school with me, instead of living in Canada, finding hot boyfriends and making new BFFs."

"Care—"

"No, stop! I didn't mean to sound all bitter and jealous. I'm not—much . . . Well, not anymore. I know we're still best friends."

Bonnie smiled. "Always and forever."

"Forever for me, anyway." She giggled at her own lame joke. "But I'm happy for you, Bonnie, and I understand now why you had to leave."

When she had first left, Caroline had been distraught—even more so that she had to pretend that Bonnie had never existed in the first place. She could never talk about her in Damon's presence or Elena's. She had promised Bonnie that she would keep her secret, even though she didn't understand why she had done this for Damon in the first place. She had not been happy about it. She just saw it as Bonnie abandoning her, and it had taken her a long time to realise that she had to let her best friend go in order for her to heal.

"But it's just so _boring_ here without you!"

Bonnie grinned. Maybe witches really did attract the supernatural element. With her gone the threat level had gone down to yellow or a soft orange in Mystic Falls. Klaus was still in New Orleans, but instead of making hybrids he had a little bun in some werewolf's stomach to keep him busy. Plus Tyler had been going out of his way to make sure that every hybrid Klaus turned would break his sire-bond to him, unbeknownst to the Original.

"Let me get this straight—are you complaining that Klaus is gone and your life is no longer in constant danger?"

"It wasn't _my_ life that needed to be saved all the time!" she protested loudly, before dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "It was She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"

"Caroline, you can say her name. You're still friends with her."

"Yeah, but only cause she's my sorta roommate. She spends most of her time at—at He-Who-Also-Mustn't-Be-Named's!"

"You just called him by his name two minutes ago, Care."

"Oh, right . . . Well, he sucks!"

"Duly noted."

"Seriously, having to watch him fawn over Elena—" she could hear the blonde gagging on the other end of the line before pausing thoughtfully "—although he doesn't do it as much anymore. It's almost like he misses a certain someone."

"Caroline," she warned.

She didn't want to hear about Damon and Elena's perfect life together, or their not so perfect life. She didn't want to hear about them at all. It had been well over a year since she had left Mystic Falls, but the memories were still there, just underneath the surface like a scab that could still be picked off.

"What?" Caroline whined. "I'm just saying that maybe Damon was less crazy in love with Elena and more in love with you than you originally thought. I've been learning a lot of new things in my psychology courses and I'm beginning to see how Damon projected all of his expectations of Katherine onto Elena when the hoe-bag rejected him.

"You see, when Damon lost his connection with Katherine, who was his purpose in life, he needed someone to move onto in order to fill that void she left in his heart; so he moved onto Elena because she was the only one at the time who was showing him any compassion, and he fed on that. Instead of looking inwards and fixing what was wrong with himself, he looked to others for a sense of purpose or a sense of self, and ultimately the validation of his existence."

"Caroline—"

"It makes sense that when Katherine rejected him, he moved onto Elena. She was convenient. She was the girl with the same face and the only one who actually gave a damn about him—cause who else would, right?—and so he trained his obsession on her, believing that he could escape his existential crisis by 'winning' Elena by making her choose him over Stefan, because that would validate his entire reason for living.

"And then if you _really_ wanted to examine his whole obsession with Katherine in the first place, you'd realise that it all stems from his relationship with his mother and—"

"Caroline, stop!" Bonnie snapped, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I don't want to hear your psychoanalysis of my ex-boyfriend; thanks."

"I'm just saying that Damon's obsession with Katherine and then her mirror image, Elena, was a construct."

"Right, I've got that. Thanks for the quick Psych 101 refresher."

"Bonnie, I'm not trying to lecture you."

"Really?"

"You know I'm not his biggest fan, right?" Bonnie hummed in reluctant agreement. "In fact, I'm the president of the 'We-Hate-Damon' fan club, but—"

"_We_?"

"Don't interrupt," she said kindly, before clearing her throat. "As I was saying—I don't like Damon and probably never will, but he was actually sort of bearable when he was with you, and not some lovesick idiot who was ready and willing to sacrifice any and all on the altar of Elena Gilbert."

"Why, what's he doing now? Is Elena in danger?" Bonnie stopped herself and shoved her panic and natural inclination to save people deep down inside herself before shaking it off. "Never mind—I don't want to know."

"Nothing's wrong," Caroline said with a dramatic sigh. "Everyone's fine. In fact, since you put that spell on Damon he's been less of a dick . . . Well, less of a dick to Stefan anyway. Me, Matt, Jeremy and Tyler are still fair game."

"Damon and Stefan are getting along?"

"Yeah! Weird, right? If I didn't hate Damon, I'd say he's being a decent big brother. Of course Stefan has to pretend that _he_ was the one obsessed with Katherine, which he still thanks you for, by the way."

One of the drawbacks of her compulsion spell was that part of Damon's memory process that allowed for him to forget how he had obsessed over Katherine for the past hundred and forty-five years and how she had single-handedly crushed him, involved convincing himself that he had only tried to free Katherine from the tomb for Stefan's sake. That it was Stefan who had been obsessed with Katherine all this time and not Damon.

Katherine, being Katherine, didn't try to convince Damon otherwise because Bonnie's spell had made it so that she could freely pursue Stefan without any Elena or Damon interference—that was until Klaus had returned to Mystic Falls one day in a spectacularly bad mood. He had taken a pint of Elena's blood and threw Katherine in the tomb just for spite. As far as everyone knew, she was still trapped there, slowly desiccating.

"Oh God." Bonnie groaned, rubbing her forehead. "How many times do I have to apologise before he'll forgive me for that?"

"He's a vampire, Bonnie. We have memories like elephants and live forever. If he's anything like me, I'd say he'll hold onto this forever."

"Remind me not to piss you off, then."

"I could never stay mad at you, Bonnie, especially when you give me such awesome gifts."

She smiled. "I'm glad you liked it—and happy birthday, Care-Bear. I really wish I was there to celebrate it with you."

"Me too."

A thick silence lapsed between them and a few seconds later Bonnie heard the water to the shower being shut off.

"Well, I should get going," she told Caroline, hearing Iain draw back the shower curtain. "Call me this weekend?"

"Of course! Are you coming home for Thanksgiving?"

"No, we don't get that holiday here—at least not in November. But I'll definitely be home for Christmas."

"Yay! We can hang out and watch _A Charlie Brown's Christmas_ and _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_ and _Frosty the Snowman_. We can even go a-wassailing!"

"As long as it's a-wassailing nowhere near the boarding house."

"Please! Like I'd subject either one of us to the Grinch styling's of Damon Salvatore."

Bonnie laughed. "I miss you, Care—and Matt. Give him my love for me, would you?"

"I will. Love you, Bonnie."

"Love you too, Care. Bye-bye."

"Bye."

Bonnie clicked off the phone with a sigh. Despite everything that had happened, she missed home terribly. She missed her friends and her family. She missed Mystic Falls and all its denizens, supernatural and otherwise. But that time in her life was over, she had to convince herself. She was onto new beginnings.

"Hey."

She glanced up to see Iain standing in the doorway. He was dressed in nothing but a towel, the narrow strip of linen barely covering the muscular midsection of his waist. He wasn't a bulky sort of guy, more lean and defined, with sinewy muscles hidden underneath the skin. His beautiful wavy dark hair was wet, sticking to the back of his neck, and the water from the shower had carved a wet route down his pale flesh like a lover's tongue impatiently seeking entreaty.

"Hey, you," she said with a grin, setting down her phone so that she could properly drink in his image. A bead of water had rolled down the bridleway of his nose and dripped down onto his lip, and she felt like licking it off.

"Did ya just get off the phone with Caroline?" he asked, closing the door behind him.

"Yup." She put her hands behind her back and walked towards him, unable to look away as the water continued to trickle down his chest and the smooth ridges of his body. "She really loved her birthday present."

"Aye?" He stepped into her space, gently placing a hand behind her neck to pull her in close. "I'd really love a present right about now, too."

His mouth sought hers while his other hand went to her hip, fingers tracing the exposed flesh beneath her top before skimming along the low dip of her back. Her own hands had found his bare chest, fingers fanning out before travelling down and surreptitiously unhooking the towel from his waist and letting it drop to the floor.

From there on it was all a tangle of limbs and searing kisses until gravity took hold and he was easing her back onto the mattress, trailing hot open-mouthed kisses along her throat and the hinge of her jaw. And as they began to nudge and back up farther along the bed, her legs curling up in a womanly reflex of coyness before opening to his skilful hands, she couldn't help but appreciate how nice of a new beginning it was.

**: : : :**

STEFAN HAD HIS hands folded across his chest, watching her move around the room with a barely concealed grin on his face. It wasn't as if he had made any sort of effort at being covert. She was just that oblivious to his presence.

Bonnie's iPod was blasting music into her ears and he had to revise his earlier assessment from 'oblivious' to 'it's a wonder she's aware of anything else at all'. She was dressed in nothing but a pair of skinny jeans and a black lace bra, singing into a hairbrush and dancing like her life depended on it.

He chuckled to himself and leaned against the wall, thinking a number of less-than-pure thoughts as he admired the way she shimmed around the apartment. He'd put money on her taking at least until the song was over to notice him leering at her with what he imagined must have looked like a slightly creepy Damon-grin curving up half his mouth. But she'd forgive him for it. She had forgiven his older brother for far worse.

His ears twitched at the sound of the electro-pop chorus pumping from the earbuds. Lyrics with something to the effect of all men being pigs. What the hell was she listening to? His patience was rapidly deteriorating in favour of anticipation.

"Are all of us men really pigs?"

Bonnie jumped a good foot in the air and yanked out her earbuds. His smirk widened when she pressed a hand to her heart. The wide-eyed prey look left her face almost as soon as it arrived and he found himself somewhat disappointed.

God, was he turning into Damon? His eyes appreciatively ran her up and down her form again. Okay, maybe a little.

"Jesus, Stefan!" She released a breathy laugh and hugged her arms around herself, covering her barely concealed breasts. "Do that creepy-vampire sneak-up-on-me-in-my-undies thing again, why don't you?"

Her face was flushed with life and probably embarrassment, and he couldn't remember her looking more beautiful and happy. Age and college life really suited her.

"Just admiring the view," he said, twirling his finger to indicate that she continue with her half-naked dance. "Don't mind me. Please continue."

She stuck her tongue out at him before flipping him the two-finger salute. He chuckled loudly. She was certainly cheeky, as the Brits would say.

"So I ask again," he said, pointing to her iPod that was still blaring its tinny music, "are all of us men really pigs?"

"Well, all men but you. But you don't count since you're a vampire."

She turned off the mp3 player and he followed her fingers tucking a chocolate curl behind her ear to reveal a pair of octagonal-shaped lapis lazuli earrings set in sterling silver.

"Are those new?"

She touched her earrings and smiled widely. "Mhm. They're a gift from Iain." She placed her hands behind her ears to show them off. "You like?"

"Honestly?" She nodded in anticipation, dropping her hands to smooth them along her thighs, her partial nudity momentarily forgotten. "I hate them. They're all wrong for you."

It was a complete lie, of course. They looked stellar on her. But he enjoyed teasing her, and for some reason her new boyfriend, Iain, rubbed him the wrong way. He couldn't help but feel that something was off about the guy, which meant he didn't like him.

Maybe he was over-thinking things or maybe he was being over-protective. Or maybe he was just an irrational fanboy who disliked Bonnie dating anyone other than his brother. That last thought was cause alone for him to worry about his own mental well-being. He wasn't e-Harmony. It wasn't his job to find the right partner for his friend. Still, he couldn't help but worry. He was a worrier.

"Liar!" She swatted his arm, smirking widely, before realising that she was still half-naked. "Christ, I need to put on a top!"

She ran into her bedroom and he followed her, stopping short just outside her door. He could hear her shoving back clothes hangers in her closet.

"How did you get in, by the way?" she asked, eventually finding a suitable top. "Not that I mind."

"Red gave me a key," he said, peeking around the corner to see her pulling a thin dark-red sweater over her head, "and then you gave me the invite."

"Ah."

Before she could turn around to see him being the voyeuristic pervert he didn't even know he was, he pulled his head back and leaned casually against the wall. "So how are things going with you and _Iain_?"

She stepped out of the bedroom, pushing up her sleeves, and shot him a dirty look. "Why do you have to say his name like that?"

"Like what?"

"Ee-ahn." She rolled her eyes. "Like you're trying to sound out Eeyore."

"Well, he is sort of maudlin."

"He is not!" she huffed, before holding up her index finger. "You met him the _once_ and he just so happened to be drunk at the time. He was missing home and was a little emotional and—"

"Maudlin," he supplied with a smirk, and Bonnie took her off one of her slippers and threw it at him.

"Oh, shut up!"

He caught the slipper and couldn't help but laugh. A witch attacking a vampire with footwear. He lobbed it back into her outstretched hands and she slipped it back on with an exaggerated huff before grinning at the absurdity of what she had just done.

She went over to the sofa and flopped down on it with a sigh, reaching up to pet a black cat that was lying on top of her gram's throw blanket. It meowed weirdly, a sort of grunt, as she patted its behind before it rolled over onto its back to await a belly rub.

"So, Stef, how are things?" she asked, obliging the black cat with its long swishing tail and eerily predatory yellow-green eyes. "How's England? Met any girls of interest yet?"

"Lots of interesting girls but none have struck my fancy as of yet." He pushed off the wall and sat down beside her on the sofa. The cat perked at his approach, wary of his presence but not afraid.

"Aww, poor Stefan," she cooed, not entirely unsympathetic. "There's always Bonnie—_my_ Bonnie, I mean. Ginger Bonnie."

The cat suddenly jumped down and walked across the brunette's lap, taking incremental steps closer to Stefan. Its shiny black fur was ruffled, fluffed up to give the illusion of gait. Stefan wasn't sure if it was trying to protect Bonnie or impress him. Maybe both?

"I thought you were trying to scare her off vampires," he said, watching the cat slowly stalk towards him.

"I was, or at least I've been trying," she said, shooting him a smirk as the cat sniffed his outstretched hand. "But you're a special case, Stefan."

He snorted at this and the cat flinched at the sound, but it didn't move away. Instead it grew bolder, carefully stepping onto his knee.

He used to like cats when he was a human. Not that he didn't like them now. It was just that since he became a vampire he didn't have many chances to interact with them. Or he went out of his way to avoid them when he was on his all-animal blood diet. But when he was little he had absolutely adored them and would bring a stray cat home every chance he got.

His father used to scold him for bringing them into the house, so he had eventually sneaked them into one of the barns. Damon used to catch him before and after school, talking to the barn cats. He had expected to be teased or mocked, but his older brother had never said a word to him or their father. Instead he would send him off with scraps after breakfast and dinner and distract his father so that Stefan could steal away to the barn to pet and converse with his cats.

It was odd how random memories would come flooding back to him like this.

"Speaking of Ginger Bonnie, where is she?"

"She left for Ottawa this morning to visit her family. Reading Week and all that. I have to take care of Happy." Bonnie patted the cat's behind and it clearly jumped this time, letting out a grunt of disapproval before digging its claws into Stefan's jeans. "Why? Do you miss her? Hmm, hmm?"

He rolled her eyes at her prodding. "You're so nosey," he said, petting the now-purring Happy who had finally settled into his lap.

Bonnie just grinned, bringing her legs up on the sofa to seat herself in the lotus position. "So how are things with you, really? Do you still keep in touch with everyone from Mystic Falls?"

"Just Damon mostly, and Caroline."

When Bonnie had first placed the compulsion spell on Damon, he had admittedly been impressed with what she had done for his brother. But after the amazement had worn off, he had begun to worry. It wasn't fair to either one of them to end things the way they did, and he knew first-hand what it was like to be compelled, even though Bonnie had done what she did from a good place.

After she left for Canada, Stefan had decided that he would ask her to remove the spell on Damon once she had settled into school and her new life. But at some point he had changed his mind without even realising it. Bonnie's spell—taking away all the negative memories of what their father and Katherine had done to Damon—had turned his big brother into a somewhat decent person. He was still an arrogant ass, but he was more human than he'd been in a long time, and he actually made the effort to be a good brother.

It was almost like seeing the big brother he had grown up with. His smiles were easier and his acts were kinder, more considerate. Admittedly, Stefan found himself really liking this new unencumbered Damon—a Damon no longer burdened by his pain and his obsessions. But, still, something seemed to be missing.

"When's the last time you saw Caroline?" he asked her, smoothing his hand down Happy's sleek back. It made another weird mewling noise, like a grunt but not, and that's when he realised that the cat was murmuring, like Marge Simpson.

"Christmas, when I went to visit my dad." Bonnie looked at him funny. "She didn't tell you?"

He shrugged. "I've been out of the loop for the past few months. Lots of things happening on the other side of the pond. Speaking of which, yours and Red's invites are still valid to come visit. Full tour. I have my own place now and everything."

"I'd love that!" Her green eyes lit up like Christmas lights. "And so would Mei Mei. We had so much fun last time. We might take you up on the offer at the end of the term. I've got this new job lined up after the exams and a few events that the coven wants to cover before the summer solstice begins and—" She stopped herself short, noticing the far-away look on his face. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I've just got a lot on my mind. Supernatural stuff."

"Anything I can help with?"

"No, it's nothing serious." It wasn't—at least not yet. There had been a lot of chatter in the supernatural community in England. The Cabal spoke of an old power resurfacing in the West and once harmonious factions rising up against one another. But it was all hear-say for now and nothing he wanted Bonnie to get involved with. "Besides, I came here to celebrate a certain witch's birthday."

"Yay! Twenty-one!" she cheered, eliciting a murmur of disgust from Happy. "I think I'd be more excited about it if I were living in the States." When he gave her an odd look, she smirked. "You know, since I've been legally able to drink here since I arrived."

"Ah, right." Being a vampire, he didn't really pay much attention to the legal drinking age in, well, any part of the world. "I didn't know that the age limit had stopped you before."

"It hadn't, but now I'm legal to get wasted in Las Vegas, baby!" She threw up her hands again and he laughed.

"Is that where you'd like to go? I can take you there—that is unless you have something to do with your friends or Eeyore—I mean, Iain."

"Jerk!" She made to swat him but thought better of it with a grumpy cat in his lap. "Actually, we had a big party last night and Iain went back home for a quick visit. Plus, I cleared my schedule since I figured you might be stopping by."

"Had a feeling, huh?"

"The psychic force is strong with me," she said seriously, before breaking out the big grin. "I'm totally free this weekend for a Vegas trip or whatever."

"Excellent." He was about to get up but stopped, realising that the cat was still sitting in his lap and would be disturbed by his moving. How was it that cats could manipulate a person without doing a damn thing? "Ready when you are."

She jumped to her feet. "Lemme pack a few things and leave some extra food and water out for Happy."

She disappeared back into her bedroom and he glanced down at the cat, whose eyes were slowly closing shut.

"Hear that, _Happy_? You've got the place all to yourself."

The cat murmured, its head bobbing lightly as if to say, 'I realise that, puny immortal, now leave me to sleep'.

Stefan grinned and gently stroked its back. He wondered if he could pick up a stray and keep it hidden at the boarding house. Maybe remind his brother of the good old days.

**: : : :**


	4. The Two-Year Itch

SHE'S WARM AND soft beside him in bed, fitting perfectly against his side. He could run his hand over every supple curve, feeling the soft skin quiver beneath his fingertips, if he hadn't become so distracted by the shape of her face.

Mesmerised, he carefully mapped out every little detail; like how one eye was set slightly higher than the other and how her nose and lips were slightly askew. Yet somehow they all seemed to fit together perfectly in their asymmetry. Beautifully off-centred. Perfectly imperfect.

Her hair was a mess across her forehead, wisps of dark curls brushing against skin soft and smooth like caramel. Her eyes were closed, her face relaxed in a state of serenity. But what really got to him was the absence of a worrying crease between her eyebrows. For some reason he felt like this was rare, like he was used to seeing her with that dimpling frown. In this moment, though, she looked to be at peace; she looked a little happier and a little less haunted than he remembered.

Who was this girl?

The line of her pelvis was sharp where the sheets pooled around her, exposing the long naked line of her back. He followed her contours with his fingertips, delighting in the wave of shivers that arched beneath her skin. Yet she didn't stir and he couldn't decide whether he was relieved or disappointed by this. He loved to watch her sleep, but at the same time he wanted to see her eyes; he wanted to see them open and gaze upon him in half-exasperation, half-adoration.

They were green, he guessed. Wise and fathomless; the eyes of a warrior queen. He was sure he had seen them before, somewhere, sometime in another dream perhaps. Another lifetime. But not this time. This time he was only left to guess.

In his dreams he never got to see the whole picture, only halves of the whole; they were pieces of a puzzle he would never get to solve because the moment he awoke he would forget her—forget what she looked like, what she smelled like, what she felt and tasted like—but the feelings would remain, lingering like imprints on his soul.

She was his mystery woman. The girl who has haunted his dreams and never said a world. The girl with the green eyes. The girl, _period_.

He turned his attention back to her face, willing her eyes to open. He gently traced his fingers over her eyelids and the crease between her eyebrows returned. Thick eyelashes fluttered and she opened her mouth—

Blue eyes suddenly opened without the transition from sleep to alertness. Disappointment marred Damon's otherwise flawless features and he bit back a groan of frustration as he carefully shifted in bed. His balls ached and his dick pressed painfully against his stomach and, not for the first time, he was glad he slept naked.

_Great. Morning wood over some imaginary woman from a fucking dream._

His hand moved south of its own volition, wrapping around the thick girth of his cock. He'd have to take care of this himself and he really didn't want to. It didn't feel right somehow, having to satisfy himself, unless he had an enraptured (female) audience to appreciate the display. But his body was begging for stimulation and he complied.

He tried to think of Elena or even the leggy blonde co-ed he drank from the other day, but his mind kept drifting back to his dream girl. The mystery woman who haunted his thoughts. Was she real or imagined? Was she some dream-walker muddling inside his brain, fucking with him for fun, or was his subconscious trying to tell him something?

Dismissing that particular train of thought, he tried to recall the vestiges of the dream and began to picture her naked above him. Her dark thighs straddling either side of his as her small feet tucked underneath his legs, her hands pressing on his chest as she rode his dick.

He grunted, his eyes closing shut as his hand glided up and down his shaft a little faster, a little harder. He imagined his dream girl leaning forward, her wavy hair parting like a dark curtain around them before placing kisses to his chest and neck, blunt teeth scraping along his skin just hard enough to leave a mark.

_Fuck!_

His hand trembled; his entire body shook. He had only stroked himself a few times and he was ready to explode. A few more tugs and he would.

He released his cock with a disappointing hiss and threw his hands behind his head to avoid temptation. He had to stop this. He had to employ some fucking self-control. He loved Elena. He wanted _Elena_. He didn't need to be jerking off to the thought of some woman who wasn't even real. Elena, however, was very much real and all he ever wanted.

Always Elena.

He wasn't sure when that happened exactly; his need to co-exist with her. Initially he had so few misgivings about building a life with Elena that it was almost terrifying. It _was_ terrifying. Sometimes the thought of his new domesticity would sneak up on him in the middle of the night when there was no one around to distract him from himself and it would scare the absolute shit out of him.

What was he doing with her? She was human, would always want to be human. She wanted a family, children; she foolishly wanted to grow old together with him. Who was she kidding? What miracles did she expect from him? He couldn't give her children. He couldn't let her grow old and die.

So for the past two years they had lived in denial together, hoping that their issues would miraculously work themselves out. He had deluded himself into thinking that she'd eventually grow a brain and give into him, become a vampire, while she had foolishly allowed herself to believe that he'd conform to her human way of thinking, that he'd give her that impossible dream simply because she asked for it. Maybe she thought they'd adopt an orphan from Cambodia together. Who knew?

His hand was about to slide back down to his dick with a casual _fuck it!_ when he heard the front door open. A few seconds later his bedroom door creaked open and Elena was standing inside, her outline back-lit in the doorway and her overnight bag dropped to the floor.

Before she could say a word he was in front of her, pushing the door shut behind them and pulling off her clothes until she was naked in his arms. He had convinced himself that her presence alone, having her body with him here in the darkness, would feel like aloe over sunburn. She would soothe his burning soul and rid him of his guilty thoughts about another woman, another life. She would reassure him somehow, because this was what he wanted. Wasn't it?

Long-fingered hands pushed her back onto the bed as his lips pressed open-mouthed kisses to her throat. Then they slipped into the old routine, into the bliss of love-making, until there was nothing left to say or do but fall asleep in each other's arms. And for now this feeling would soothe away the itch underneath his skin.

**: : : :**

HE'D NEVER COME at her the same way. She'd expect him to come up from behind but instead he'd meet her sideways. It was how he thought, how he reacted' and she had always loved that about him: his unpredictability.

In seconds he had her undressed and pinned beneath him, pushing his hands through her tumble of curls and holding them in great clumps between his fingers. He pressed a wet kiss to her throat before his lips then travelled downwards, dipping his face into the curve where her neck and shoulder met. Blunt teeth trailed along sensitive flesh, leaving red welts in their wake.

A soft growl escaped his lips, undulating against her throat like a purr, and his lips began to trace the staves her tendons raised beneath the skin. She moaned and reflexively arched her back beneath him, raising her hips up to meet his. He grinned wolfishly against her skin and she shuddered despite herself.

Too often he played her like an instrument, gifted lips and deft fingers. Or at least he had. This, however, was just a dream, yet everything about it was all too familiar. Déjà vu was a better term for it. Hadn't she already fallen into his arms and into his bed so many times before? Silver-blue eyes cutting past her defences until she was left vulnerable in his clutches.

Even though she knew this was only a dream, knew this was simply a projection—of his thoughts or hers—for a moment she wanted nothing more than to pretend that _this_ was her reality. She wanted to get lost in the feel of him again, to live in a world where only the two of them existed. She wanted more than what was safe to pursue.

At the same time she knew that these weren't just her feelings, her thoughts or her memories. They were shared. They were _his_. He was beginning to remember.

Skin prickled between her shoulder blades and she slowly stirred awake. There wasn't even the semblance of a segue from dream world to reality, just instant consciousness. As disappointing as it was disorienting.

She pulled her cheek off the table with a warbled mutter of confusion. There was drool on her chin and she wiped it away with a grimace. Yeah, that had to look sexy. She furtively glanced around and saw that she had nodded off in class, again. Another dream about Damon; this was the third one in three days.

"Have a nice nap?" Mei Mei asked, giving Bonnie a playful nudge as the brunette wiped the sleep from her eyes.

"Mhm."

For a moment she thought the lecture was over, that she had slept through it, but they were only at the half-way point. The professor announced a fifteen minute break and the students dispersed like cockroaches scurrying from the kitchen light.

It was time to get some chocolate and caffeine into her.

The two girls made their way out into the hall to one of the café kiosks and patiently stood in line. Bonnie's attention wavered and waned, focussing on anything but the quiet conversations taking place around her, until she found herself staring at a cluttered bulletin board.

"You okay?" her friend asked, giving Bonnie a concerned look before paying for both of their hot chocolates.

"Yeah." She ran her hand through her hair before taking the proffered drink. "Just a weird feeling." The redhead gave her another look, this one far more unconvinced and pointed, and Bonnie relented. "Okay, I've been having visions about Damon."

"And?"

_And we've been doing the horizontal mambo in them?_ "And I think my compulsion on him might be wearing off."

"Wow, really?"

She nodded reluctantly. Her powers back then weren't as strong as they were now. Plus Damon was an older vampire and quite powerful in his own right. The likelihood of her compulsion wearing off by now, especially if he had kept up with his daily consumption of vervain, was considerably higher than she'd like.

"What will he do if he gets his memories back?" the redhead asked.

"Probably try to kill me." She shrugged indifferently. "Not that I'd blame him. I'd kill him too if he did something like that to me."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I can't just go to him and say, 'Hey, are you starting to remember me?' And even if he is getting his memories back, what right do I have to take them away again? This was only meant to be a temporary solution."

The redhead took a sip of her drink and nodded. "You should call Stefan. He might know if Damon's getting his memories back. Plus, he might be able to offer you some advice."

"You're right, Mei Mei." She pulled her phone out of her pocket and shot the redhead an appreciative smile. "Good idea."

She scrolled through her contacts list until she found Stefan's number and pressed send. She took a sip of her hot chocolate and listened to the call ring through. He wasn't answering. Finally his voice mail picked up.

"Hey, Stefan, it's Bonnie. I need to talk to you. It's about Damon. Call me as soon as you get this. I'm just going back into class, but leave a message and I'll call you back ASAP." She hung up the phone with a sigh and turned towards her friend. "I tried."

"Don't worry. He'll get back to you soon and help you deal with Damon."

"Yeah, I'm sure he will." She turned off her phone and slipped it back into her pocket, returning to the classroom with her friend.

She really wished Stefan would call her back soon. She didn't want to admit it to herself or anyone else, but she feared the consequences of her actions against Damon. Stefan really was her last hope.

**: : : :**

HE LAY AWAKE in his Manhattan hotel room, staring blankly at his phone. A voice mail from Bonnie blinked at him and Stefan wondered if he should call her back now or wait until after his meeting with Fry.

He decided to wait.

The hotel room he was staying at was a two or three-star at best—shady enough to have a clandestine meeting at but not too shitty that the police would bust in at any moment to crack down on a drug deal. He had turned off all the lights in the room except the one in the small bathroom, the fluorescent bar that hung over the sink and threw a diffused glow across the room. It reminded him of the way street lamps looked when you saw them through a heavy fog—or at least before all the lights were changed to energy-saving orange.

He glanced down at his watch for the time—always his go-to time reference despite the convenience of cell phones. He'd been wearing watches for too damn long to start relying on anything else. When he read the time, he frowned. His contact was seven minutes late. Not terribly tardy but late enough to arouse suspicion.

The man he was supposed to meet was a warlock by the name of Edward Fry, the owner of a Wiccan shop on 96th Street. More importantly, he was an undercover Cabal agent who had been sent to New York City in order to keep tabs on the supernatural element here, especially the witches and any clashes they might have been having with one another.

The head of the Witches' Cabal in the United Kingdom, Dahlia, had sent Stefan to meet with Fry in order to exchange information. One of their Seers had predicted that an uprising would begin on the North American content and spread across the globe, affecting covens everywhere. An old power had secretly risen and the Cabal needed to know exactly what this old power was and where, when, how and _who_ it would strike first.

"Where are you, Fry?" Stefan sat up and set his phone down on the nightstand so that he could run his fingers through his hair. _Where are you and where did you ever find the nerve to cut and run? Are they onto you, and now are they onto me?_

No one else knew he was in Manhattan, only Dahlia and Fry, and there was no way Dahlia would sell him out since she had sent him here in the first place. And Fry—he was a low-level warlock but he was trusted by the Cabal. Besides, betraying a vampire would only get his throat ripped out.

Maybe he was just late.

Stefan shook his head. No, no matter how he looked at it, late or not, something wasn't right. He wasn't feeling it. Something was definitely wrong.

_All right_, he thought. _Don't bitch and moan about it. Remember what Damon would say—the situation is what the situation is. If it talks like a duck and walks like a duck, it's a fucking duck. How you're going to work around it is the only question. Trust your gut and go from there._

What his gut was telling him right now was that Fry had been compromised by whatever big bad he had been sent there to spy on and infiltrate. Now he had become a loose end and Stefan didn't have the time or the resources to un-fuck whatever trouble the warlock had got himself into. He'd have to leave—now.

He got up and stuffed his phone in his pocket. A small duffel bag sat at the end of the bed and he picked it up, looping the strap over his shoulder. He'd have to cut his losses and report back to the Cabal about Fry possibly being compromised. If he wanted to get more information, he'd need some back up; maybe regroup back at Mystic Falls and call in a favour with his big brother. Damon had to have been itching for some kind of action after spending two dull years in a town that no longer housed supervillains.

In the meantime Stefan had to check-out of this rathole and get the fuck out of Manhattan. The faster he could leave the better.

He stepped out of the hotel room and made his way to the stairwell, intent on taking the stairs to the lobby rather than the shoddy elevator. As he went to open the exit door, two teenagers in hoodies stepped out. The shorter one, dressed in a red jacket with the hood up, made to step past Stefan, the zipper on his jacket jingling as he moved.

"Gabhaigí mo leithscéal."

Stefan stopped short and cocked his head to the side. "I'm sorry—what?"

What happened next was a blur—a painful fucking blur. He didn't even realise what was happening until it was too late, and then the understanding came rushing to him all at once. He tried to speed away but the magic that held him was overpowering. Aneurysms fired off in his brain, one after another after another, until he was crouching in front of the two hooded men.

He gave a vast, inarticulate cry and clutched at his head. The pain was so intense that he almost passed out. Less than thirty seconds passed before the aneurysms stopped and he went sprawling forward. Wasting no time, he stumble-staggered to his feet, blood dripping out of his nose and pooling onto his upper lip. He tried to vamp out and rush the hooded strangers, but he couldn't move.

Held by invisible binds, he twisted in place and struggled to take a step forward before the shorter guy in the red hoodie held his out his hand. Suddenly Stefan was kneeling before the bastard, panting like a dog, like he actually needed air to breathe.

"I said, sorry 'bout that," the kid said, before tilting his head inquisitively. "Hullo there, Stefan."

The vampire's head jerked up at the sound of the voice. His eyes narrowed in suspicion before trying to concentrate on the guy in front of him. He tried to make out the bits of the face not hidden beneath the hood, and then all of the pieces of the puzzle instantly fit themselves together.

"You—"

There was a small but vicious cracking sound in his head and a bolt of agony tore through it. He grunted, his spine arching back before slipping forward. Next came the chanting and his eyes widened in disbelief first and then pain, excruciating pain.

It was dark magic, magic he had never felt before, ripping through his brain. The air around him seemed to still like everything had been placed on pause. Blood bubbled from his mouth and snorted out of his nose in fine droplets. His vision dimmed and suddenly he was falling forward into darkness.

His last thought before losing consciousness was of Bonnie.

**: : : :**

HE'D HAD ANOTHER dream about her—his mystery woman with the beautiful green eyes.

Damon could never quite remember the details of the dreams upon awakening; what was done or what was said. They had always left him feeling empty, yet his heart would ache with the ghost of old wounds. Even her face would get lost in the clouds of euthanasia that were his memories, and he would end up delegating her to the sketchy files of his imagination. But he could never forget her eyes, the colour or shape of them. They were mesmerising and familiar.

He lay awake in bed, the sheets pooled below his waist, exposing his nudity to the humid Virginia air. He had already counted every crack in the ceiling, measured the cubic area of the room, considered massive renovations and picked out his wardrobe for the morning.

Idle distractions.

Resuming sleep would be damn-near impossible. His mind was still torturing itself trying to figure out the elusive meanings of his dreams while simultaneous pushing the images behind his eyes. He had come to loathe them as much as he yearned for them. It made no sense to be so infatuated with a dream woman when he had the real thing lying next to him.

As if to prove his point, he turned his head to watch Elena sleep beside him. She was snoring softly, her limbs tangled around him like he was her own personal body pillow. Generally he enjoyed the warmth she provided. He had revelled in the feeling of her warm human body heating up his own cold corpse, but now it felt too stifling, too constricting. She was like a boa constrictor and he had to slip away from her suffocating grip.

Careful not to wake her, he slowly extricated himself from the curl of her body and padded off into the bathroom. He ran the shower scalding hot and shut the glass door noiselessly behind him, resting his forehead against the uneven limestone. Steam rose all around him, opening up his pores, and he simply stood underneath the nozzle of the spray, water pounding away at his now heat-reddened skin.

Without warning his mind lapsed into another daydream and she was there with him. His imagined lover had silently slipped into the bathroom, rubbing her eyes through the sleeve of one of black dress shirts. The images skipped and then sharpened; now she was shedding his clothes, exposing her flawless umber skin as she climbed into the shower. Her arms wrapped around him from behind, kissing the pink puckering flesh of his back, holding him tightly until the water ran cold.

Or at least that's what his mind told him.

"Damon?"

He shook his head, the daydream shattered, and glanced back to see Elena standing in the doorway to the bathroom. She was dressed in a white tank top and blue shorts, tucking an errant lock of straight chestnut brown hair behind one ear. He swallowed tightly, his throat lightly bobbing, and scowled slightly.

This was the woman he was supposed to fantasise about. This was the woman he was supposed to love and desire. Wasn't she?

"I'll be out soon," he said, quickly turning off the taps. He didn't want her to join him in the shower, out of guilt for his fantasy or something else.

"Your phone keeps ringing," she said, holding it up. "It's Stefan. I-I didn't want to answer it, just in case . . ."

Just in case, what?

She gave him a sheepish look that told him more than he wanted to know, like the fact that she was still in love with his brother despite being with him, and he almost told her to just ignore it and let it go to voice mail. But he pushed down his fleeting insecurities and opened the shower door, pointing to the sink counter.

"Set it down. I'll answer it."

She did as told and just as quickly left the room, although he could sense her hovering near, trying to hold her breath as she eavesdropped.

The phone continued to vibrate, persistent and annoying like Stefan. He grabbed a towel off the rack and wrapped it around his waist, leaving wet footprints across the tiled floor as he made his way to the vanity. He picked the phone up off the counter and clicked on the call with an exaggerated huff.

"What is it, little brother? You were interrupting a very pleasant shower." He waited for an answer, a sigh or some sound of displeasure, but there was only silence on the other end of line. He frowned. "Stefan?"

"If ya want ta see yer brother with his heart still intact, Mr Salvatore," said a man with a faint brogue, "I suggest ya do exactly wot I say."

Damon stood stock-still, his silver-blue eyes flashing in the mirror. Okay, he had his attention.

**: : : :**

THERE WAS BLOOD everywhere, rusted vermilion on her sleeves and pooling thickly about her knees. He was lying in her arms coughing, a wet phlegmatic sound, and she glanced down to see her own fingers stained with his blood, tattooed with guilt.

He clasped a hand around her wrist, forcing her to look into his eyes. The redness was already draining back into the sockets, black veins disappearing beneath the skin, fangs retracting back into the gums. He was moving his lips but no words were coming out. There was just a gurgling noise at the back of his throat, a faint rattle, and his blood seeped thick and red from his mouth, staining his chin and neck.

He was drowning in his own blood, but that wasn't what was killing him.

Suddenly his body began to spasm and his back arched high at an unnatural angle. His mouth clenched, molars grinding to dust, and his body bucked once more before going completely still. He exhaled shallowly, ungracefully sinking back down into her lap. Listless hazel-green eyes glazed over in horror and pain before staring out at nothing. That's when the desiccation began, turning his once fair skin wheatish then grey.

Stefan Salvatore was dead. She had failed him. She had _failed_ him.

Bonnie bolted awake with a gasp.

She took in great gulps of air, trying to fill her lungs but it was no use. She was having a panic attack. Her shirt was soaked through at the back with sweat and she brought a shaky hand to her forehead, as though this action alone could ease the pain and erase the memory of her dream. She had dreamt that Stefan died in her arms; that he had died because of her.

After awhile her breath finally came back to her in deeper inhales, her pulse-rate slowing down and evening out. Her fingers swept up into her hairline, shaky digits pushing through knotted hair. She couldn't stop trembling; her entire body was shaking. She needed to calm down. She needed to get ahold of herself.

She glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was only 10:15 PM. She had just barely fallen asleep. She looked at her phone. No new messages. She hadn't heard from Stefan in almost a week; he hadn't returned any of her calls. Was this dream simply a manifestation of her worries or was it a portent?

"Bee?"

She heard someone say her name and she lowered her hand, turning her attention to the bedroom door. Her roommate was standing in the doorway. Her strawberry-blonde hair was in disarray and her big brown eyes were gazing at Bonnie woefully.

"Mei Mei," she whispered hoarsely, trying to get her voice back. "I'm sorry—did I wake you?"

"No." The redhead shook her head, still giving Bonnie that harrowed look as she trembled in the doorway. "Did you have a dream about Stefan dying, too?"

Bonnie's eyes widened like saucer plates and the realisation swiftly dawned on her. Her friend was a psychic, too. Perhaps they had shared the same dream or some version of it. Or Stefan really was in trouble.

"C'mon," she said, pulling back the duvet cover so that her roommate could join her.

The redhead smiled gratefully and climbed into bed with Bonnie, pushing the slumbering black cat aside. It murmured in annoyance at being disturbed but quickly went back to sleep.

"I think something's wrong," she whispered, curling into Bonnie's side. "I've never had a dream like that before, not with so much blood and violence." She shuddered at the recollection. "It was horrible."

Bonnie held her friend close, comforting her and seeking comfort for herself. She'd had bad dreams before, but never this visceral and never about Stefan. But her friend was right. Something was wrong. Stefan was in danger, but she had no idea how to find him.

Suddenly her phone rang, alarming both girls and annoying Happy. Bonnie quickly reached across her nightstand and picked up the phone. The number on the screen had a south-west Virginia area code but there was no contact name. Still, she wasn't about to take any chances, so she clicked on accept.

"Hello?"

"B-Bonnie—Bonnie, is that you?"

"Elena?"

"Yes . . ." There was a tearful sort of pause on the other end of the line and Bonnie knew that the brunette had been crying. "I-I know you probably don't want to talk to me—and I don't blame you—but, Bonnie—" a hiccupping sob "—it's Stefan and Damon: they're missing."

She felt her stomach bottom out. "When?"

"Almost a week ago." She sniffed into the phone. "Damon got a call last week, something about Stefan being in danger. H-he wouldn't tell me. He left to go find Stefan and—and I haven't heard from him since."

"So you want me to find _Damon_ for you?"

"And Stefan!" Elena protested. "He's in danger. I can't explain how I know, just that I do! And I know I have no right to ask for your help, but there's no one else I can turn to."

Bonnie swallowed thickly. "Where's Caroline?"

"She left the other day to look for Stefan and Damon, but I haven't heard back from her yet. I-I'm worried that they're all in danger, that something terrible's happened to them." She paused, sniffing pitifully. "Bonnie, you're the only one p-powerful enough to save everyone. You're the only one who can fix this."

The witch sighed heavily. Just when she thought she was out, they pulled her back in. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

She hung up before Elena could respond and quickly got out of bed. Turning on the lamp, she went to her closet and pulled out a small duffel bag. She tossed it onto the bed, disturbing a now-ruffled Happy, and began stuffing it with clothes.

"It's Stefan, isn't it?" her friend asked, getting out of bed. "He's in trouble, isn't he?"

Bonnie went to her dresser and pulled out a pair of jeans, slipping them on. "It was—an old friend from back home. Two of my other friends have gone missing and she thinks it has something to do with Stefan."

"What do _you_ think?"

Bonnie shrugged, going back to the dresser for extra socks and underwear. "I think my friends are in trouble."

"Then I'm coming with you."

Bonnie spun around. "No! No, you're not!" When the redhead shrunk away, Bonnie softened her tone, "Mei Mei, I need you to stay here."

"Why?" the redhead pouted. She didn't like being kept out of the loop, but Bonnie didn't want to place her friend in any danger. She needed to protect and shelter her as best she could, which meant keeping her the hell away from Mystic Falls.

"Someone needs to take care of Happy, right?" She hoped this explanation would appease the redhead, but it didn't. Thankfully her friend wasn't stubborn and didn't press the issue, much.

"Fine, I'll stay here—_for now_. But you need to keep me updated at all times," she ordered. "And the moment you feel like you're in over your head, you call me and I'll round up the cavalry, aka the coven, and we'll come save your ass. You got that, Missy?"

"Got it." Bonnie grabbed her phone and threw it inside her purse, along with her keys, tablet and passport. When she picked up the duffel bag, she kissed the redhead on the cheek. "Love you, Mei Mei."

"Love you, too. Be careful!"

"I will!"

It was time for Bonnie Bennett to go home.

**: : : :**

HE NEEDED BLOOD.

Every nerve in his body was alight with pain, his senses skewed and dulled. He felt weak, disoriented, manipulated. He had no idea where he was or even _who_ he was for a moment or two, or five, but he knew he needed blood.

He craved it.

Damon struggled to move, but his body refused to budge. Chunks of his memory had gone missing, temporarily tumbling down the rabbit hole, while others struggled to the surface, popping up like little air bubbles.

Something was wrong; something was terribly wrong with _him_.

He remembered that Stefan was in danger, that he had gone to the place—the place where they had told him go if he wanted his brother back. But it was a trap, just like he had anticipated. They had been waiting for him. The trap had been sprung and they had got the best of him. It hadn't even taken any fucking effort; that was the sad part.

Domesticity had turned him soft.

He struggled to recall who or what had done this to him but the synapses began firing off in his brain and he brought his hands to his head in pain. It was like shards of glass were cutting away at the tissue, taking great hunks of brain matter and simply chucking it onto the ground. The pain spiked and then dulled to a mind-numbing ache, but he was still so weak. Sluggish. Moving his arms and legs felt like wading through molasses.

There was a hint of fragrance in the air—flowered meadows?—and he remembered an overpowering floral scent with a hint of lemon.

Vervain.

He had been held in a cell laced with vervain. So much of it that he couldn't move, couldn't breathe. There were sounds there, too, always coming from above. Chanting. Chanting something in Gaelic.

Somehow he had managed to escape, from where he didn't know. His thoughts were hazy; his memories fragmented like someone had taken a galleon of liquid nitrogen and a hammer to his brain. And now he found himself slumped in a ditch off some deserted highway, too weak to move with sunrise slowly but surely coming.

How the hell did he even get here?

Wherever he was it was still dark out. _It was always darkest before the dawn._ The moon was a milky white halo hanging in a sky of bruised blue silk. Sunset wasn't far off—an hour away, maybe less. This was bad news because, as he had discovered a few minutes earlier, the bastards who kidnapped him had stolen his daylight ring.

He needed to find shelter from the approaching dawn and soon, but he was still too weak to move, not quickly anyway. As far as he could see there was only a severely underused highway and wide open fields. Farmland? What he needed was to get a little bit of his strength back so that he could flee from the inevitable rising sun, but in order to do that he needed blood.

He'd settle for anything right now, even Bambi, but he had a feeling that Bambi would kick the shit out of him in his current condition. He couldn't go three rounds with a retarded squirrel right now if his life depended on it, and sadly it did, and he sure as hell couldn't run after woodland creatures for sustenance. What he needed was human blood. If one could only drop into his lap right now and offer it willingly; that would be super.

As if answering his prayers, he heard the rustling of grass and tires speeding along pavement. A vehicle was approaching.

Mustering every last bit of strength, he crawled up out of the ditch and somehow managed to drag his ass out into the middle of the highway. Pale twin beams stripped down the dark road and a mid-sized sedan came into view. He could only hope it would stop or else he'd be road-kill before the sun nuked him.

Instead of reaching a rolling stop, the car pumped its ABS brakes and stopped a good six feet in front of his head. Lucky him. He could hear the engine running in idle as it was shifted into park, the driver's side door opening with a click.

His first blurred impression of the driver was a woman in her early to mid-thirties with a slim build and blonde hair. She was standing in front of the low beams of the car, casting elongated shadows along the pavement. He thought her heard her gasp and the sound of heels cobbling along the asphalt as she rushed towards him.

"Are you okay?"

She was keeping her distance. Smart woman, but not quite smart enough.

He tried to sort through his plan of action, what he'd tell her to make her come closer, but his mind started to play tricks on him, refusing to follow any linear line of thought. Next thing he remembered was trying to stagger to his feet, dried blood sticking to his face and his body sore all over. A part of him, the demon in him, told him to rush her—to sink his teeth into the delicate column of her neck and drain her dry; no questions asked. But some part of him knew better, knew this would be impossible in his condition, and instead of scaring her he should solicit her aid.

Then it was like he had stroked off for a half a second. His brain skipped a beat, like a stone in his mind had struck against the flat surface of reality and flew up and off it again. And when he came back to himself, he found that he had already caught her by the wrist and then the waist, squeezing her so tightly that she couldn't get enough breath to scream.

She struggled, though. She tried; he'd give her that. But he was still stronger than her despite his weakened state. He pulled her down to the ground with him and let go of her waist, holding onto her wrists instead as he manoeuvred her beneath him.

"Don't scream," he said, hating how weak and pleading his voice sounded to his own ears, like a neutered mutt. But at the same time he knew such pleas were necessary; his compulsion wouldn't work. The vervain had rendered him almost useless.

"Please don't hurt me," she whimpered, and boy was that original. He'd never heard _that one_ before.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said, struggling to keep upright. His gums itched and his fangs begged to be elongated, yet he couldn't muster the strength or the will to move his mouth to her neck. But that damn jugular vein insisted on jumping at him, taunting him. "I only need a little blood." Just enough to bring him back from this hell. He didn't need to kill her. He could keep her around as a blood bag until he got his strength back.

Her eyes widened at his request, terrified pools of humanity blinking back at him, and that was when he noticed the colour of her eyes. Green. Green eyes. A tear had gathered on the lower lid of the left one, trembled, and then slipped down her cheek, leaving a runny trail of wet mascara.

Really? The fucking single tear? He almost snorted aloud. Who managed that instead of gross sobbing? Who? he asked.

"A-are you going to r-rape me?" she asked numbly. She was looking at him with those extraordinary green eyes; great eyes, really. Who needed to pussy-whip a man when you had eyes like those, right?

Wait—back up a second. Did she think he wanted to rape her? Was she fucking kidding him? He was bleeding from his eyes and could barely sit up straight let alone get his cock fully functioning, and she thought he wanted to, what, bend her over the asphalt? How the fuck was he going to achieve this? He asked for blood, not access to her coochie. Shouldn't her go-to-response have been to plead for her life? He was a fucking vampire, not some scumbag pervert off _Dateline_.

Then he idly wondered if he was on _Dateline_ right now. Was there some douche out there with a video camera filming all of this? If so, then he'd eat him too.

"What did you say?" he finally asked her, and she trembled beneath him.

"P-please don't rape me," she pleaded, and he honestly thought that she was still fucking with him. "Please, p-please don't. I don't—I don't w-want AIDS."

He gaped at her for a moment, literally gaped at her, before bursting with strangled laughter. Hunger and impending doom momentarily forgotten, he fell off her and onto his side. It hurt his stomach to laugh, it hurt his diaphragm even worse, and most of all it hurt his face, but for awhile there he just couldn't stop.

A vampire with AIDS? That would be a first. And AIDS, seriously? That was so 1980s. Why not syphilis? That thought only made him laugh harder.

The blonde, still held in his tight grip, just watched him with amazement at first and then smiled tentatively, hopeful. Maybe the crazy, laughing vampire-rapist would let her go?

After a while he finally managed to get himself under control, although his eyes were streaming with tears. "No, I'm not going to rape you—?" He didn't know her name.

"Liv."

Really? She gave him her name so easily it made him want to break out in raucous laughter again.

"I'm not going to rape you, _Liv_," he said, finally capable of speaking without laughing into insincerity. He had never raped a woman in his life and didn't plan on starting with her. Despite her pretty green eyes, she wasn't his type. She was too blonde, too afraid, too simpering. He liked his women darker, stronger.

Bright lights flashed along the road and another car pulled up. _Busted_. He wasn't sure if it was another Good Samaritan and potential _rape_ victim or if this was whoever who had captured and tortured him in the first place, come to finish him off. At this point, though, he didn't care and even welcomed death a little.

Only a little.

The door to the other car clicked open and he heard feet on pavement. Not heels, but they were definitely a woman's feet—small and light footfalls. She was jogging over to them, her voice rising out of the dark and drifting up like a memory through filigree curls of smoke.

"Go!" she ordered the blonde. "Leave now!"

"But—"

"I said, go! I've got him." Her voice struck like a thunderbolt, commanding. _Bitch, I gave you an order!_ "_Leave._"

He thought he heard the blonde cry out, but then his mind must have taken another one of those skips and he disappeared into the ozone for awhile. When he came back this time, he found himself being held in someone's lap, someone soft and small.

"Damon?"

He weakly lifted his head to search her face and met green eyes—wise and fathomless green eyes. His dream girl's eyes.

"No," he rasped. "No, you're not real."

She ignored him and picked up a jagged rock from the pavement, cutting into her wrist with a painful hiss. The scent of blood slammed into his olfactories like a Mack Truck and his gums itched to come out to play. He could feel the change overcome him, feel his own mouth salivating at the thought of tasting her blood, but he didn't dare move. Couldn't. And he had no fucking clue _why_.

"Drink." She held her bloody wrist to his mouth. He could feel the sweet, salty liquid drop down onto his face and he wanted to smear it along his lips and teeth. He wanted to bathe in it, but he couldn't. Not with _her_. "Damon, don't make me offer again, cause you know I won't."

Did he? Did he know that?

He didn't have time to think because she was already pushing her wrist directly onto his lips and his fangs had already sunk into her skin, teasing the delicate cartilage beneath. He drank—and drank and drank until he had gorged himself, until he was bloated with her blood—but she had stopped him from taking too much.

As she pulled her arm away, he could see the puncture wounds already healing, the skin knitting back together as though it had never been pierced in the first place. His eyes drifted to her face as she tucked an errant lock behind her ear. There was a flash of blue. Lapis lazuli earrings? He thought for a moment that she must have been a vampire; however the blood currently running through his veins, healing and rejuvenating as it went, wasn't vampire blood, but it wasn't quite human either.

Weirder still was that he could see clearly again, his senses returning to him even more enhanced than before. He was hyper-aware and stronger somehow. Memories came flooding back, in bits and pieces at first, but they were piling up to the point where it was too much, where it became too painful to think.

What the hell was she?

She began to chant softly, her eyes closed as her hand hovered over his face. He didn't have the strength to resist her even if he wanted to, and he didn't. He felt oddly at peace, relaxed and safe. And then the cold, dark fingers of unconsciousness curled into his brain and his world went black.

**: : : :**


	5. Something Wicked

HE WOKE UP to the sound of someone shrieking.

"Fuck you, you warlock bastard!"

Stefan's brow wrinkled in weary confusion and he touched his fingers to his forehead. Whoever was screaming sounded vaguely familiar, but her voice was muffled, like there was a wall or seven separating them. But before he could try to discern the voice in the din, the yelling had stopped.

The warlock must have silenced her, or else he had imagined the shrieking to begin with. Maybe it was all inside his head.

He scrubbed his hand over his face before dropping it limply to his side. He stared blankly at the ceiling, wondering where the hell he was. Wherever he was being kept was dark and slightly drafty. He could see no lights overhead and none coming in from an open source, which could have meant that it was night outside or there were no windows.

He carefully sat up, his limbs protesting the movement, and planted his feet on the dirt floor. His fingers clutched at the thin mattress of an ancient cot, circa 1914 or older, and he breathed in the stale air riddled with mould and the faint whiff of vervain. Then he weakly lifted his head and took in his surroundings.

The room he was in was pitch-black, though his vampire vision was working well enough, sort of like infra-red. He could discern no windows, only four drab walls and a single door. A cell? The only other object in the room aside from the cot was an old wooden chair. Upon closer inspection, the walls appeared to be made of stone rather than concrete and were considerably old, unlike the fairly new-looking steel door.

It all sort of reminded him of the cellar at the boarding house. A damp underground cellar filled with vervain? This was someone's dream version of a vampire prison.

Though he could smell the vervain in the air, he couldn't see any in his cell, and for some strange reason he felt like it couldn't affect him. Of course he couldn't verify this because his memories were still fractured by magic. He could smell it on him, lifting the fine hairs on his forearms. Some of it was protecting him, but most of it was imprisoning him here.

He grabbed fistfuls of his hair and tugged, desperately trying to recall something, anything. After a few minutes memories began to bubble to the surface. He winced as they formed and painfully popped and formed again behind his eyes. He could remember the hotel in Manhattan and the kid in the red hoodie, but his face was hidden beneath the hood, his features slightly obscured.

He concentrated harder, trying to focus on the stranger's face. Blue eyes? The guy had blue eyes and pale skin. Freckles? He shook his head. No, it was his voice that was important. What was it about his voice that sounded so familiar? He had spoken to him in Gaelic. Gaelic? His eyes widened in sudden realisation.

_Iain_.

He slumped forward and rested his elbows on his knees, cradling his head between his hands. He felt nauseated and dizzy, like he was going to black out at any moment. And that's when he heard footsteps outside his cell, the sound of jingling keys, and the door to his cell was unlocked.

The door opened slowly and a man stepped inside with a lamp. Stefan saw his opportunity to escape and he rushed forward only to slam into an invisible barrier. The impact threw him backwards, tossing him into the wall. When he dropped unceremoniously onto his face, he weakly rolled over onto his back with a groan if pain.

_Fuck, that hurt._

"I see yer awake, Mr Salvatore," his captor drawled, shutting the door behind him as it locked with a loud click. "Canna call ya Stefan?"

The vampire pushed himself upright with a grunt, only to see a prettily handsome man with bright blue eyes and full pink lips smiling smugly at him. Without the hood to disguise his features, Stefan was able to immediately recognise the young man. He was Bonnie's boyfriend, Iain, the same warlock who had kidnapped him at the hotel.

"You!"

"Me," the warlock said, putting down the lamp and pulling up the chair to straddle it. "But you can call me Iain."

"You're Bonnie's boyfriend?" He couldn't quite believe it. Why were men always betraying that girl?

"That I am. And yer her, wot, bestest vampire friend?" He shook his head. "No, wait, that honour belongs ta Ms Caroline Forbes."

"Is she here?" Stefan was on his feet, inches from the barrier that tingled with a warning current of electricity. "Is she who you were torturing earlier?"

"I torture no one—well, not physically at least." He lazily waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "As for yer blonde friend, she's around 'ere somewhere. But don't worry; we're taking real good care of her."

"Bastard!"

"I've been called many things, mate, bastard amongst 'em, but I've ne'er been called a ripper." He folded his arms over the top of the chair and rested his chin on his forearms. "Wot's that like, killin' viciously and indiscriminately?" When Stefan growled at him, he just chortled softly before sobering his expression. "Yer a tricky vampire ta keep tied down, Stefan. Surprisingly resourceful, too." He lifted his chin. "Ya really shouldn't have released yer brother, though. There was still so much more information we coulda gleaned from 'im."

Damon had been here?

Stefan rolled back the mental footage of his memories, which were slowly but surely coming back. He recalled blood being taken from him in buckets and being in a different cell than this one, more open, and seeing his brother being dragged into a room nearby. He remembered breaking out of his cell, capturing a warlock and feeding on him before tearing open Damon's cell and feeding the warlock to his brother, too.

Damon didn't have his daylight ring and so Stefan had gone to give him his own but his was missing, too. After that, he remembered helping Damon escape this place somehow but hadn't been able to leave with him. Why? But the answer was obvious: magic. Magic was keeping him here, just like magic had protected him against the vervain and compulsion.

"Yeah, well, sorry to disappoint," he muttered, straining against the barrier just far enough away that he wouldn't electrocute himself. He wanted to reach through and rip out Iain's throat and feed it to him.

"Ah, yer not a disappointment, Stefan," he said, as if he were actually trying to reassure the vampire. "Yer actually quite useful, and Bonnie just happens ta be fond of ya. Fond of that brother of yers, too."

"Damon will tell Bonnie everything!"

Iain snorted derisively. "Unlikely, mate. I put a lil spell on him that'll clean out the memories o' his lil holiday here if he got any blood in 'im, like when you fed 'im my mate, Gavin." His countenance darkened. "He won't be sayin' anything any time soon.

"Plus it seems like I haven't been the only one rootin' around in that morbid head o' his. Bonnie's been quite the busy lil bee with her vamp-ex." He pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully. "Good fer her."

"What do you want?"

"Lots of things, Stefan—" he spread his hands "—ta end world hunger and social injustice, destroy all boy bands from this earth and actually find a pair of trousers that fit decently. Stylish ones with deep pockets." He raised an index finger. "An' also the freedom ta carry a purse without judgement. I mean c'mon, men 'ave more things ta carry around than just a wallet and a mobile phone. Am I right?

"But if yer asking what I want this very moment, it's ta know _why_ yer helping the Cabal, Stefan. A vampire like you thick as thieves with witches? Really now? Really?"

Stefan opted for silence as his answer—the less Iain knew, the better—but suddenly the air grew thick and the walls contracted around him. He felt a pressing weight on his chest that rose its way up to his temples, compressing his head in a vice-like grip.

The cool dexterous touch of incorporeal fingers reached inside his mind and began plucking memories from his headspace like strings on a harp. He tried to resist the probing, but the pain only intensified. A guilty memory slipped past his defences and rose to the surface, and suddenly his world blazed bright and hot as a searing white pain lanced through his head. Then he was released and the flame inside his mind was snuffed out, leaving little more than the tactile memory of pain.

Without realising it, he fell backwards onto his ass and tried valiantly not to gasp for unnecessary air. Iain, meanwhile, just chuckled humourlessly at him.

"Ah, I see it now," he said, nodding sagely. "I knew ya weren't just some noble do-gooder vampire. Does a coin toss ring any bells?" A cruel grin angled across his lips and Stefan flinched. "Was she really worth that much less than this Elena girl? Well, I suppose not now, eh?"

Stefan's eyes went to the floor. He had always felt guilty for his coin toss decision on Bonnie's life. Thinking about it now made him sick to his stomach that he had once valued her life so little in comparison to Elena's, and grateful that Damon had the foresight and the compassion to completely rule Bonnie out of the death equation.

Damon had always said that he would choose Elena over Bonnie, yet he hadn't that day or that day since. But for Stefan it had always been about Elena. He had done horrible things to keep her alive. He was a hypocrite. But after witnessing Damon and Elena's betrayal and Bonnie's selflessness to give them all new beginnings, he had found himself wanting to help the little witch however he could, which was how he had ended up working with the Cabal.

"What about you?" he spat. Sure, he had used Bonnie, but he had never pretended to love her in order to use her. "You've been using her all along!"

The warlock shrugged indifferently. "I'm not using her fer my own personal gain, mate. I need her ta help me right the wrongs of the witches before her, the ones who started this whole mess by creating creatures like you. _Vampires_."

"I don't understand."

"Nah, I don't expect ya t'understand. See, I'm not using Bonnie ta save the love o' my life. I actually _do_ care for her, deeply. She's a sweet, feisty thing." His grin slowly faded. "Sometimes I really wish things were different and destinies weren't the way they are. I don't want ta see her get hurt."

"If you don't want her hurt and you need her help, why didn't you ask her yourself? Why go about it this way?"

That was what he didn't understand. Bonnie would do almost anything for her friends. She'd even die for them. So why was this guy, who had Bonnie's love and adoration, going through such a production to get her help?

"Ah-ah, nice try," he said, waggling his finger at him, "but I'm not some Bond villain. I won't be revealin' my intentions t'ya. You'll be finding out soon enough."

Iain then stood up and pushed the chair aside, knocking on the cell door twice. There was a click as it unlocked and the door opened a few feet.

"Now get some rest there, Stefan," he said, before retrieving the lamp and slipping outside. "Yav got a few big days ahead of ya yet."

The door closed shut and locked and Stefan just sat on the floor, closing his eyes and trying to block out the vertigo that threatened to seize him. He could only hope that the Cabal would send others to help, and that his brother had managed to safely get away and find Bonnie before Iain did.

**: : : :**

BONNIE SAT IN front of the fireplace, the light from the flames rolling over her face and hair, giving her features a rusted glow.

It was too damn hot for a fire, but she lit one anyway. The dancing flames always had a way of soothing her, and the shock of seeing Damon so broken and lost had sent her into an emotional tailspin. For a split second she had panicked, unsure of what to do, but then the synapses fired off in her brain and she found herself feeding him her blood.

Almost immediately she had felt the tug of her own spell wearing off him, as if it were warring with another compulsion, a stronger compulsion. She had reacted quickly and put him to sleep, relieving him of the pain while weaving her magic back into place.

She hadn't wanted to do it. She had decided on the plane ride there that she would remove the spell and tell Damon everything, take full blame and suffer the consequences. But after finding him that way and spotting no signs of Stefan or Caroline, she had to re-prioritise. The reunion would have to be postponed. Once they found Stefan and Caroline she would tell Damon everything. In the meantime she would have to maintain the charade and keep his attention solely fixed on finding his brother.

So while Damon slept in the back of her rental car, Bonnie had called Caroline, again. It was a pointless endeavour. She had already called her twice before she left Montréal and then again when she landed in Richmond, but still no call back. It was a bad sign. Caroline did _not_ ignore phone calls and texts. Bonnie just hoped that she and Stefan were safe. The pinnacle of her luck couldn't just be finding Damon.

How she had managed to find him on that particular stretch of road from Richmond was cause enough for worry. Somehow she had sensed him nearby and turned off the main highway, drawn to his presence like a beacon, like she had her very own Damon GPS. She had been surprised to see him, but not as surprised to find that he hadn't fed on the woman who had pulled over to help him.

Perhaps he had been too weak, which was why Bonnie had decided to feed him herself. She had never offered him her blood before, not willingly from the vein anyway, and once again she was delivered another shock when he refused. Even more surprising, he seemed to recognise her.

After putting him to sleep, she had managed to drag his heavy ass into the back seat of her rental car, thanks to the assistance of a levitation spell. When she had pulled into the driveway at the boarding house, Elena was already there waiting, along with Matt, and they had both carried Damon inside and up into his room.

Left alone in the sitting room, Bonnie had immediately gravitated towards the fireplace. She was back in Mystic Falls and she had already saved Damon's ass, only to deliver it into the waiting arms of Elena, his one true love. She tried not to feel bitter about it, but the whole experience was taking quite the toll on her emotional health.

It had taken a few minutes, but after some calming breaths her heart had finally stopped racing. In. Out. It was a relief to breathe normally again, and now she felt oddly calm, despite being back in the one place she had never wanted to visit again.

Just then Matt came down the stairs and she quickly snuffed out the fire, turning to greet him.

"Hey. How is he?"

"Well, I'm no vampire expert—" he pushed up his sleeves "—but he appears to be sleeping. Elena's up there with him now."

"Ah, right." Her eyes were downcast, embarrassed for having shown concern, but Matt just pulled her into a bear hug.

"C'mere." He squeezed tightly. "I've missed you."

She stiffened in shock at first before relaxing. Closing her eyes, she rested her head against his shoulder and sighed contently. It felt good to see her friend again, and she revelled in the feel of him despite her increasingly desperate need to breathe.

"Me too," she said, pulling back to smile radiantly at him. "I mean I've missed you too, Matt."

He exhaled sharply and looked away. "I just wish stuff like this didn't have to happen in order to get you to come home."

"Matty—"

"I know, I know." He turned back and offered her a sweet smile. "I'm not blaming you, Bonnie. I just miss having you around."

Her heart tugged in her chest and she threaded her bottom lip through her teeth, gazing at him fondly. She really did miss him. She even missed this boarding house in some sick way. Despite everything heart-breaking that had happened here, she missed home. But sometimes home was hard, if not impossible, to come back to.

"So have you heard from Tyler?" she asked, quickly changing the subject.

She knew from Caroline that he had gone to New Orleans to work with the werewolves there, forgoing college altogether. He and Caroline still had fights about it: his responsibilities to his people and his pack versus his responsibilities to her. Somehow they still managed to make it work and remained together, stronger than ever. If it weren't for Iain, Bonnie would be incredibly envious.

"He's not picking up his calls or they're not ringing through." Matt shrugged. "No reception or something."

"He must be somewhere near the bayou."

"He should be here, helping us look for Caroline," he said angrily, and she gently touched his arm.

"We're going to find her, Matt."

"Yeah," he said thickly, before clearing his throat. "Hey, look, I've gotta go finish my shift at the Grill, but I'll be back later. You'll still be here, right?"

"Yeah." She smiled at him. "I think I'll go see my dad. Once Damon's awake we'll try to find out what he knows about Caroline and Stefan, and then we'll find them and bring them home. _I promise_."

He exhaled with a nod and she could see the tension slowly easing off his shoulders. She was glad she could provide him with a little comfort, even though she couldn't really deliver him an absolute guarantee. But she would try, because that's who she was. Right now Damon was their only hope in discovering the truth, and the fact that she had found him where she did meant that he had probably been kept prisoner nearby, which meant Stefan and Caroline might still be there.

"I'm glad you're back, Bonnie," Matt said, dragging her away from her thoughts. "Aside from all this—I'm just glad you're here."

"Me too."

He hugged her again, a good tight one, before excusing himself from the house. Not long after he left, Elena came down the stairs. She looked distracted and older than Bonnie remembered her. She was still beautiful—Elena would always be beautiful—but she seemed worn out and tired of life.

"He's still resting," she told Bonnie, smoothing her hands down her jeans-clothed thighs, "but he seems fine."

"That's good."

Elena took a seat on one of the sofas while Bonnie remained standing. She couldn't sit; she couldn't rest. She was too wound up. Plus if she sat down now, she might never get back up.

"Thank you, Bonnie," Elena said suddenly, her voice timid and her smile strained but genuine in its appreciation. "Thank you for saving Damon and thank you for coming. Bonnie, I—"

The witch held up a hand to interrupt her. "Look, Elena, we need to get one thing clear before I jump back into the dutiful role as Mystic Fall's resident witch: I came here for Stefan and Caroline, not you."

She had tried not to sound angry or resentful because she wasn't, not anymore, but she had to lay down the law. She wasn't going to stick around for the usual vampire and doppelgänger drama; and as soon as they found Caroline and Stefan, she was giving Damon his memory back and ghosting it. Again.

"I-I understand," she said demurely, and Bonnie nodded sharply.

"Good." She folded her arms beneath her breasts. Now everything had gone back to being awkward. She remembered a time when being around Elena made her feel happy and loved. Now? Awkwardness. "Now that we got that out of the way, what information do you have on Damon's phone call concerning Stefan?"

"Nothing." The brunette shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea who called or where they were supposed to meet. Damon wouldn't tell me anything. He just left and didn't say where he was going."

Bonnie frowned. "Then how did Caroline know where to go?"

"She didn't. She got some help from her mom, something about tracking Damon's phone, and then she left. Compelling people for answers along the way, I guess."

"Why didn't she call me?"

"She didn't want to get you involved." She glanced down at her hands that were folded on her lap. "She knew you wouldn't want to come home."

"That's not fair," Bonnie protested. "She knew I'd come home for Stefan."

Elena just nodded and the two shared an uncomfortable silence. Elena knew Caroline and Bonnie still talked regularly and visited one another and that even Stefan and Bonnie had become close after she had left, but Bonnie wasn't sure what Elena thought about this, not that she cared. It wasn't her job as the ex-best friend to care about what Elena thought or worry about hurting her feelings.

"So what do you think happened to Damon?" Elena asked Bonnie, finally breaking the silence.

"Well, he was held captive somewhere with vervain," she said with a shrug. "I could smell it on him, sense it when I—" _Held him in my arms?_ "He's also been compelled."

"Do you think it was Klaus or another Original?"

"No, I don't think so. This was a witch's doing." She exhaled wearily. She was tired and this conversation was only exhausting her more. Plus she was already subconsciously edging towards the door. "Look, I'm going to go home and see my dad and maybe take a nap. I haven't slept yet."

"O-oh, yeah, I understand," Elena said quickly, rising to her feet. "Get some rest."

"Call me when Damon wakes up."

Elena just nodded and Bonnie turned to leave.

"Bonnie, wait!" The witch stopped and glanced over her shoulder. "Does he—will he remember everything when he wakes up?"

She stared Elena askance for a moment before shaking her head. "No, don't worry. My compulsion on him is still holding. But you should know that once this is over, once we find Stefan and Caroline, I _will_ be giving Damon his memories back."

Elena just bit her lip and nodded reluctantly before glancing down at her feet. When she finally looked back up, Bonnie was already gone.

**: : : :**

DAMON SAT UP in bed and rubbed at his eyes with a tired sigh. It felt like he had gone five rounds with Sage with his hands tied behind his back, and she had been wearing vervain-laced gloves.

His head felt fuzzy, like it was stuffed with cotton. Bits of his memory were missing, like who had taken him and to where. He dimly remembered a dark green-eyed girl giving him her blood, but everything shortly before that and after was completely blank. Obviously he had passed out and was now in his room at the boarding house. But how the hell did he get here?

"You're awake." He glanced up to see Elena fretting in the doorway. "Do you remember anything?"

Straight to the point she was.

"You mean do I remember where Stefan is?" He carefully stood up, touching the mattress for balance for a brief second. He was still woozy. "No, whoever took me wiped my memories. I have no idea where I was kept or Stefan."

She bit her lip and nodded slowly. He could tell that she was disappointed that he didn't have any information about Stefan. She was worried about his little brother, more than him maybe, but oddly he didn't even care what she felt. He only cared about his brother.

"Well, here's some more blood." She walked into the room and handed him a blood bag. "It should help you recover."

"Thanks." He took the bag and bit into it, sucking its contents dry. He instantly felt better but his memories were still a blur. He faintly remembered crawling out onto the highway and a car stopping, or two, and he had tried to drink from someone but couldn't. Couldn't or wouldn't? "Can you tell me how I ended up here?"

Guilt briefly toyed with his girlfriend's features before she quickly shook it off. "Oh, uh, a friend of Caroline's found you on the road and brought you here."

"A friend of Barbie's?" He scoffed at the idea, but Elena insisted.

"Yeah, her name's Bonnie." She cleared her throat uncomfortably. "She used to go to school with us when we were younger."

"Bonnie?" How did he know that name? "Do I know her?"

The guilty look returned, peppered with uncertainty. "I-I don't think so."

"Then why would she stop to save my ass, Caroline's friend or not? Hell, if she's friends with Blondie, then wouldn't she have left me to die?" He briefly recalled someone feeding him blood. Was it her? "She's not some vampire lover, is she?"

"Bonnie?" Elena snorted. "No, she's not a fan of vampires."

"Yet she's friends with Vampire Barbie?"

"They were friends before Caroline became a vampire."

That still didn't explain why a stranger went out of her way to save him, but he didn't feel like questioning it. Right now he'd just rather get shit-faced.

Spearing his fingers through his dark hair, he threw the empty blood bag in the trash bin and brushed past Elena to head downstairs. He needed a drink, or seven. Maybe if he got a little drunk he'd remember what happened to him, and the inevitable numbness would momentarily distract him from how epically he had failed his little brother.

Once downstairs he made his way over to the mini bar, only to see two annoying humans inhabiting his parlour. Matt and Jeremy were lounging on the furniture liked they owned the place. Didn't they have a coffee shop or a fast-food joint to loiter in front of?

"Looks like you're awake," Matt said, stating the obvious, and Damon shot him an ugly sneer.

"Looks like." He poured himself a glass of bourbon. Humans could be so fucking stupid and pointless, aside from the blood they provided.

"So where's Bonnie?" Jeremy asked Elena, who had just joined them. The kid looked like he was waiting for someone to jump out from around the corner or out of an imaginary cake. "Has she searched his memories yet to find Stefan and Caroline?"

Damon stayed the tumbler of bourbon at his lips. "What?" They were going to have some stranger dig through his memories? Who decided this? He looked to Elena first and then Jeremy. "How? Is she a hypno-therapist?"

"No," he dragged out the vowel, shooting his sister a dirty look before turning his attention back to Damon. "She's a witch."

The vampire's eyebrows all but disappeared up into his hairline. A witch? Baby Gilbert had to be fucking with him. There was no way a witch would go out of her way to help a vampire. It was an unwritten code that a witch should leave a vampire to die a horrible, painful death. Or maybe it was written code. Who knew? Whatever the case, vampires and witches didn't mix; they were like oil and water. And since when were there witches in Mystic Falls, aside from Abby and the dearly departed Sheila Bennett?

"So who is this witchy Good Samaritan whom I've never met before?" He directed his question at Matt, pointedly ignoring Elena and Jeremy. They were useless when it came to getting answers.

"She used to go to school with us."

"So she grew up in Mystic Falls?"

"Yeah, her entire family's from here."

"And what family would that be?"

"The Bennett's," Jeremy interrupted with a smirk, and Damon's countenance went from angrily confused to murderously angry.

"You're saying that this Bonnie girl is a Bennett witch?" Tweedledee and Tweedledum exchanged glances and nodded, and Damon felt like cracking their skulls together. There was no fucking way this girl was a Bennett witch. "Bullshit!" He held the glass just a bit too tightly that the crystal cracked in his hand. "I'd know if there were any young Bennett witches in Mystic Falls."

Matt blinked at him. "You would?"

"She left before you arrived," Elena quickly supplied, and Damon glared at her rather nastily before changing out his glass. He didn't know why, but he had a feeling that she was lying to him. They all were, and it was pissing him off.

"So?" He poured himself three fingers of bourbon and took a healthy swig. "I'd know if a Bennett witch was born here. I'd know if Abby had a daughter."

"Abby did have a daughter, _Bonnie_," Jeremy said in that condescending tone that made Damon want to snap his bird-like neck. "She just moved to Canada."

"Canada?" he spat. "Why the hell would she move there?"

Matt shrugged. "Free healthcare?"

"I've got free healthcare for you right here." He bit into his wrist and everyone gave him a disgusted look, which he easily shrugged off, draining the dregs of his drink before refilling his glass. "I would have known if there was another Bennett witch in town."

He'd been keeping tabs on the Bennett witches for over a hundred years. He was meant to protect them. He had made a promise to Emily, although now he couldn't quite remember why.

Why couldn't he fucking remember?

Suddenly the front door opened and in waltzed a petite girl with dark, curly hair and a lovely caramel complexion. She was wearing a sleeveless mid-length lavender dress with a crocheted yoke and nude sandals. She looked to be about twenty, but could have easily passed for sixteen.

"Hey, I got your texts," she said dispassionately, holding up her phone. "Dad's being exceptionally clingy, so we'll have to make this brief."

Damon just stared at the stranger mutely for a moment. This was the girl who saved him? She was so . . . _tiny_. Yet despite her height, her legs were exceptionally exquisite, long and lean and finely shaped. Unlike Elena, who was all long, straight lines, this girl had curves, a perfect hour-glass figure that had him gawking like an idiot.

It was her face, though, that really drew him in. It was a bit asymmetrical but it didn't make her any less pretty. And were those green eyes? She looked familiar somehow. Had he seen her somewhere before? Before she had saved him from being turned into dust that was.

"Hi, Bonnie." Jeremy immediately made a beeline for the girl and Damon felt a pang of irrational jealousy when he watched them hug.

"Hey, Jer." She pulled back and gave him a crooked smile, her eyes briefly passing over Damon. Curious? Unsure? Attracted? He was damn attractive, if he did say so himself, and he did, many times.

"So you're the one who fed me your blood and dragged my ass off the road." It was more of a statement than a question, and it certainly wasn't a thank-you.

"Yep. Name's Bonnie."

"You always feed vampires your blood, _Bonnie_?" he quipped, not quite sure why he was being so confrontational, just that it felt right.

"No, _you're_ special," she riposted lowly, and he smirked. "But you're Stefan's brother, so . . ."

She shrugged, letting her sentence trail off and speak for itself, and that's when it hit him: this was the witch who had given Caroline the booby-trapped present. This was Stefan and Caroline's _mutual_ friend, and the witch his brother fancied. Now it made perfect sense why she had come: she had come for Stefan.

This revelation shouldn't have irritated him the way it did. It shouldn't have made him feel less special. He was a unique snowflake, after all. Why should he care if some witch came to town looking to help his brother? He needed the help. He should have been appreciative. But Damon was Damon and somewhere deep inside he felt a little miffed that she hadn't saved him for his own sake, that she had simply rescued him out of loyalty to his brother.

"So you had to help his unfortunate yet exceedingly handsome and sexy older brother from dying in the middle of the road?"

"Pretty much," she said breezily enough, and took a seat on the sofa across from the bar. "So, have you remembered yet where you were being kept?"

"Nope." He re-filled his drink and tried not to notice the way the soft bow of her lips curved downwards as she pondered something or the way her sun-kissed skin seemed to glow in the dark room. "I thought that's what you were here for."

She laced her fingers together and looped them over a crossed knee, issuing him a carefree nod. "You are correct, sir."

"Sir?" He smirked, lifting his glass. "I like the sound of that. Although I like _master_ better. It rolls right off the tongue, don't you think?"

He winked at the witch and she just rolled her eyes. Jeremy and Matt, on the other hand, glared at him disgustedly.

"Hey! There are other people in the room," Matt said, motioning to the willowy brunette hovering behind him. "Like Elena."

"It's okay." She shrugged it off, still looking sheepish, which only annoyed Damon more. "I don't mind."

Shouldn't she, though? Shouldn't she be upset with him for so openly flirting with a girl in front of her? He hated how easily she forgave him, for everything. She never held him accountable for his actions; in fact, she often gave excuses for it. At first he thought this was a good thing. She was so caring that she'd forgive him for all his trespasses, but now it felt like she was condoning his behaviour simply because she _had_ to. She had chosen the wrong brother, after all.

Where the hell did that thought come from?

"I can try to help you recall your memories for you," the witch suggested, trying to undercut the current of tension in the room, "if you want me to that is."

Damon came around with his drink and sat down beside her, leaning in close. "I want to find my brother, so let's get this over with."

Her eyes widened a fraction and he found himself staring into their fathomless green pools for a bit longer than he should have, longer than he felt comfortable with. He must have come off as a creeper, but she didn't say anything. He couldn't help but wonder what was so oddly familiar about her. He needed to found out what and why.

"Just lemme get some more blood." He stood up suddenly and placed his glass on a coaster before motioning impatiently to Matt. "Donovan, come join me."

The blond scoffed in revulsion. "I'm not offering you a vein, Damon."

"Like I want your blood," he spat, before rolling his eyes. "I need to move some vervain that we have kept near the freezer, and since I'm weak as a kitten right now, I could use some burly bartender muscle."

"I can help," Elena volunteered, but he shook his head.

"No, you stay here and catch up with your old _friend_ here." He gave her a strained smile that almost came off as a sneer. "We'll be right back."

Matt begrudgingly followed him into the cellar, wary but unafraid. It annoyed Damon that these humans no longer feared him. Protective super rings or not, they needed to be quaking in their boots at the mere sight of him, instead of treating him like a neutered mutt.

Once in the cellar, he grabbed a couple blood bags from the freezer and drained them dry while Matt found the phials of pure vervain extract and put them in a box.

"Where do you want these?" he asked, and Damon just pointed in the direction of one of the unlocked cells.

"Anywhere away from the blood."

The vervain was the last thing on his mind right now, and he had a feeling Matt knew this too because when he turned around to find the vampire looming over him in the doorway of the cell, he didn't even look the least bit surprised. _Bastard_.

"What do you want?"

"Oh nothing." He was trying to appear aloof but the bartender wasn't buying it. Damon was basically up the man's ass, which only meant one thing—aside from the obvious, if he were gay—and that was that he wanted information. "Just curious."

"Curious about what?"

Matt was looking far too smug for his own good and Damon felt like tearing into his neck, but then that wouldn't get him the answers he needed. The kid would need a larynx and a voice box to speak, and for the umpteenth time Damon really wished the idiot wasn't on vervain so he could compel him. Now he actually had to be suave about getting what he wanted, and with a guy no less.

"Just why Elena seems as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs around this witch. What's their deal, anyway?"

"The same deals most girls have, I guess." Matt shrugged. "They used to be best friends and then they fell out—" he brushed past Damon out the door "—over a guy."

A guy, huh? Damon turned around, grimacing at the brush-off but begrudgingly following Matt back upstairs. If he was going to get real answers, he'd have to get them straight from the source herself. All he needed to do was get the witch alone, but that wasn't going to be easy with Elena and Jeremy hovering around the little thing and, from what he could hear, they were already giving her the third-degree.

"What about Lucy?" Elena asked, crossing and uncrossing her arms nervously. "Could she help?"

Damon's brow creased in concentration. He faintly recalled Lucy—an Amazon of a woman with great legs. She had helped them with Katherine, but other than that he was drawing a blank.

"Lucy's in France right now," the witch told them. "She has her own coven and everything. They've been connecting with other covens all over Europe."

"So it's just you?" Jeremy asked incredulously, and she shrugged.

"Sorry, I'm all you've got."

"You're more than enough," Elena reassured her far too forcefully, and neither Damon nor the little witch was buying it.

"What about the power of a hundred witches?" Jeremy persisted, and the witch shot him a rather scathing look.

"Jeremy, you know very well I don't—"

"Power of a hundred witches, huh?" Damon strutted back into the parlour and all eyes were on him now—the way he liked it. "You've got the power of a hundred witches?"

"No, not me," she said, a bit too quickly. "Jeremy has me confused with Lucy." She directed Baby Gilbert a warning glare and Damon almost laughed. "She's the one who absorbed the powers of the dead witches and tried to help you guys take down Klaus."

He frowned thoughtfully. Did she? For some reason he didn't remember it that way. In fact, he didn't really remember it at all. Everything was still so annoyingly hazy, despite all the blood he had just ingested. It must have been a side-effect of the damn compulsion spell, but he couldn't understand why it was messing with his memories _before_ being captured.

"How do you know all of this?" he suddenly asked her. He knew a witch had helped them, so he guessed it had to be Lucy, but how did the new witch know this?

"She's my cousin. She told me."

He stared at her, unconvinced, and then made his way over to the sofa. "Did she also tell you that Sheila died?"

"I knew about that, yes," she said uncomfortably.

"I don't recall seeing you at the funeral."

Her mouth dropped open in an O of shock. "Y-you were there?"

"She died helping my brother try to save Katherine, who wasn't even in the tomb—lying bitch." He picked up his drink and raised it to her in salutations. "Paying my respects to Sheila was the least I owed her."

"I see." She frowned, although he thought for a moment that she might have looked a little surprised. "T-thanks."

"So you're a Bennett witch, huh?" She nodded. "You're the last of your line, aside from Lucy. But since _you're_ the daughter of Abby, you're the true heir."

"Yeah, lucky me."

"Yeah." If she really was a Bennett witch, he had majorly fucked up with keeping track of the bloodline. This girl wasn't even a blip on his radar screen. How did he miss her?

"What?" She was looking at strangely, with her head tilted to the side and looking all cute, and he shrugged it off.

"Nothing." He had more important things to worry about than Bennett witches, particularly the well-fare of his brother. "So are you gonna help me get my memories back or what?"

She blinked rapidly at his mini-outburst before nodding. "Yeah, I'm going to try to see if I can undo the compulsion, but first I'm going to use your blood for a locator spell, see if I can find Stefan that way. But there's no guarantee that the locator spell will work, seeing how whoever took you was obviously thorough."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" He drained the rest of his drink in one long gulp and set the glass on the table. "Daylight's a-wasting."

"Fine, but we'll need to go to the witches' house." She glanced past him to stare pointedly at Elena. "Alone."

Damon looked back at Elena and shrugged indifferently. "Deal."

**: : : :**

"SO WHAT YOU'RE saying is that whoever did this to me is more powerful than you?"

Bonnie sat on the floor in the basement of the witches' house, gnashing her teeth in annoyance and frustration. She was annoyed with Damon for being Damon and frustrated because she had failed to pick apart the memory spell. Whoever had placed the compulsion on him was good, _very_ good, and there was no way she could attempt to undo it without unravelling her own compulsion. Even if she did, there was no guarantee that it would help him with his other memories. In fact, it could possible hinder them.

"No, I said whoever did this to you knew what he was doing, knew how to manipulate your mind so that no other witch could go in and remove the compulsion spell."

Damon flapped his fingers. "All I'm hearing is blah, blah, blah, you're not strong enough to do anything useful, blah, blah, blah."

"I am _more_ than strong enough."

"And you're unnecessarily conceited, too," he added, standing up and wiping the dust off the seat of his jeans. "Great combination."

"I did not miss this," she muttered under her breath.

"What?"

"Nothing." She turned off her tablet, her grimoire on the go, and slipped it into her purse. She really needed to control her tongue around him, or at least be more mindful of his vampire hearing.

"Yeah, well, I'm not surprised that your ju-ju was useless, but I am curious how you knew about this place—" he gestured to their surroundings "—and why I haven't burst into flames yet."

She was just as surprised as he was that the spirits hadn't tried to set Damon on fire or disable his daylight ring; they weren't exactly his biggest fans. But she wasn't about to question it right now.

"You brought Lucy here, right?" He rolled his shoulders in a reluctant shrug. "She told me about it."

"Well, ain't that quaint," he snarked. "I'm glad this secret location is so well-known."

She cleared her throat. "Anyway, I brought you here cause my powers are stronger in places like this." And she might have been able to ask a favour from the spirits or Emily.

"This is you at your strongest?" He looked unimpressed. "You're doing the Bennett bloodline proud."

She smiled at him through gritted teeth. "Anyway, I'm thinking that we're going to have to be more invasive about retrieving your memories. The tracking spell didn't work, so we have to rely on your brain, unfortunately." He shot her a dirty look and she clasped her hands together. "Okay, I'm going to have to attempt something that's a little unorthodox."

"What are we talking about here, Inception or Vulcan mind-meld?"

She bit back a smile. He was such a closet geek. "No, it's something far more insidious." She took in a deep breath. "We're going to have to share blood."

"Are you saying we have to blood-bond?"

"No!" She shook her head violently. "No, it's not the same. I'm not a vampire."

"No, but you are supernatural. You're a witch." He was giving her that crazy-eyed look, like she had just suggested something disagreeable yet highly intriguing at the same time.

"It won't create a bond," she assured him, and herself, "although it's extremely risky for me. Do you understand that? I will have vampire blood in me and if I die—"

"You'll become a vampire," he finished, and she nodded quietly.

"And I don't want that, _ever_," she emphasised. "Which means if I die, I wouldn't go through with the transition."

His jaw clenched tightly at this and she couldn't quite make out his expression. He seemed to be brooding, something Stefan would do, and it unnerved her greatly.

"So why the blood-sharing?" he asked.

"It gives me easy access to your memories, sort of like your dream thing."

"My dream thing?"

"Yeah, where you go in and mess with someone's dreams." She waved her hands about. "Did you ever notice that it worked better on the person if you had shared their blood beforehand?"

His brow furrowed in angry confusion. "How do you know all of this?"

Shit! She had forgot that she shouldn't know this much about him, which included his rare vampire talents.

"I study." She gave what she hoped was a casual-looking shrug. "And Stefan tells me things."

"Right. _Stefan_. Your bestest vampire friend."

She frowned. Why the hell did he seem so bitter about this? "That would be Caroline," she corrected with a grin. "Stefan's a close second."

"Stefan as the second choice, huh? Why does that strike me as unusual?"

"No idea."

She glanced down at her lap and bit the inside of her cheek. Despite her spell, his memory was obviously coming back to him, albeit slowly and in fragments. She had been afraid of this. She needed him _not_ to remember, not now. She needed his focus to be on Stefan and not her betrayal. Once they found his brother and Caroline, then she would reveal everything. But for now she would have to keep lying to him, even if she hated herself for it.

"So what do we need to do?" he asked, sitting lotus style across from her. "Do I feed from you and you feed from me?"

She winced, mentally gagging at the idea. "We have to exchange blood at the same time, so yes. There will be a transference, so you might receive some of my memories, or not." She shrugged sheepishly. "I'm not really sure. I've never done this before."

"That sounds reassuring," he drawled, but held out his arm anyway. "Wrists, then?"

"Yeah." She swallowed dryly, staring at his pale skin and the blue veins that ran along his inner forearm.

"Don't worry," he said with a smirk, taking her dainty wrist with one hand while bringing his own wrist to his mouth. "It doesn't taste that bad."

"Says the vampire to the human."

"Witch," he corrected, and then bit into his wrist.

He gently placed the wound over her mouth and at first she wouldn't open her lips to receive his blood, but then he pushed his wrist more forcefully against her mouth and it involuntarily opened. The salty liquid smeared against her teeth and coated her tongue before dripping down her throat. She almost gagged on it, but almost instantaneously her senses instantly sharpened and the blood didn't taste quite as bad; it was more sweet than salty and thick like molasses.

She barely felt his teeth puncture her own wrist, the same one she had offered him on the highway. The feel of his lips and tongue on her sensitive skin had her juddering and she involuntarily released a breathy moan. The magic had already ignited between them like a lit match and she could feel his blood swimming through her veins. It was like current of electricity running through her and back to him again.

She could faintly hear him sucking, his throat undulating as he drank her blood. His eyes were screwed shut and he let out a guttural moan of pure pleasure, and that's when everything spun out of control.

Images rose to the surface of her mind with the dreamlike swirl of colours, coming and going at no set interval or speed, as though time itself held no meaning. Then it felt as if the bottom had dropped out from beneath her feet and she was falling, plummeting into the abyss until gravity was removed and she hovered silently amidst the familiar trappings of a network of underground cells.

Plantation slave cells.

She was struck by the clarity of his memories and the surreality of it all. She had no better word for the experience than ethereal, as though she didn't exist on this plane but was somehow a part of it. She had tapped into Damon's subconscious, and through the fog of his own mind opening up to hers a scene had begun to unfold in blurred lines and fading colours of sepia. It was like looking through a distorted lens, a memory within a memory.

She saw Damon lying on the floor of a cell and the sounds of faint chanting coming from above. It sounded like Gaelic. The images quickly shifted and this time she saw men in dark cloaks, warlocks standing in front of a bonfire and chanting in Gaelic.

No, not warlocks—_Druids_.

The images switched out faster and sharper. She saw blood being drawn from him in buckets, then she saw Stefan breaking Damon out of his cell; watched him feed his brother an unconscious Druid and lead him towards the exit. But Stefan couldn't leave with him. He was trapped down in the cellar somehow, like the tomb underneath Fell's Church. But this place wasn't a tomb. It was like the old Lockwood estate's abandoned cellar, only more extensive.

She watched Damon stumble out of the ground near a plantation estate. The mansion loomed up ahead, its familiar colonnade architecture. Bedford Hills? That was only a few hours north-east from Mystic Falls.

Suddenly the images were gone, ripped away from her consciousness, and the bond was broken. Bonnie was gasping for air and didn't even notice that Damon had her cradled in her arms and was lightly taping her face.

"Hey, are you okay?"

She caught her breath and nodded, trying to sit up. "Yeah, sorry, it was just a lot of images at once."

"Did you get anything?" He let her go and she scrambled several feet away from him, dirtying her dress in the process.

"I saw Stefan help you escape from a cell, but he couldn't leave with you. They had him trapped in there, like the tomb spell."

He frowned deeply. "What kind of witches are we dealing with?"

"Druids," she corrected, wiping the back of her hand along her damp brow. "They were Druids. And unlike witches and warlocks, they don't write their spells down. They're passed down orally, which means I can't figure out what was done to you exactly, or how undo it without some help."

"Great." He sat back and exhaled noisily, eyeing her in that unnerving way of his. "There's more isn't there? This can't be the _only_ good news you've got for me."

"Druid magic isn't traditional."

"Which means?"

She hesitated. "They depend on blood sacrifices."

His jaw tightened. "Well, then, it looks like you're gonna have to cancel your plans with Daddy Dearest tonight."

She nodded reluctantly and went over to her purse to pull out her phone. She knew a few things about Druids but not nearly enough. Iain was the true expert, and she'd need his help on this one.

**: : : :**

"SHE'S ESCAPED, SIR."

Iain glanced down at his phone: there was a missed call from Bonnie. He turned it off and slipped it back into his pocket before glancing up at the Druid standing in the doorway.

"Repeat that."

"T-the blonde vampire, sir," he stuttered. "We had no idea that the vervain had no effect on her and she, uh, she escaped."

A muscle worked in his jaw and he was trying very hard not to grind his teeth. It wasn't that he was upset that the girl had escaped. He had planned on letting her go eventually. She was of little use to him, aside from being bait, but it annoyed him that so many of these vampires had witches protecting them. Vampires and witches? It wasn't right.

Furthermore, he was miffed with his men; they had failed him, twice, and he couldn't so easily overlook that. If he hadn't already had a contingency plan in motion, they would have all been screwed. Punishment needed to be meted out, but that would have to come later.

"Are the other two still secured?" he asked, picking up his glass and taking a sip with a hiss. The alcohol was strong, damn strong. It felt like his mouth was on fire. He was used to drinking something smoother, like brandy, or thicker, like Guinness. This stuff, moonshine or whatever the hell it was, must have also been used to grease engines.

"Yes, sir. We've doubled their security and the vervain in their cells. The other one's been unconscious all day and the Salvatore vampire is still being held in place by your spell."

Iain took another sip of his drink, feeling the liquid fire burn a hole in his gullet. He idly played his finger along the rim of the glass and brooded. He was going to have to move them soon. It was inevitable, and nothing that really messed with his plans. They'd just have to move things up a notch, a minor inconvenience but a necessary one. What was important was that he still had Stefan and the other vampire. And Bonnie—he'd have her soon enough.

"We're going through with the plan, as usual," he told the Druid. "The vampire stupidly left just before dawn and she doesn't have her daylight ring on to protect her. She won't be able to make it back to Mystic Falls until later tonight—that is if she gets some blood in her. In the meantime, I want you to keep track of her by using the blood we took earlier."

The lackey nodded and was summarily dismissed. Iain went back to his drink. Suddenly it didn't burn so much anymore, and he smiled. Everything was slowly coming together. He only needed one other person to fall into his lap, and if things went as planned, she would come to him.

**: : : :**


	6. This Way Comes

SHE'S LYING BESIDE him in bed, her cheek pillowed against his shoulder and an arm draped across his chest. His fingers tangled with hers seemed far too delicate; far too intimate a gesture for someone like him to wake up to. Not with her. He had fallen for her completely now and he wasn't sure what to do next.

"You're thinking very loudly," she mumbled into his chest.

He pulled his head back and glanced down at her. Hooded green eyes were peering up at him, veiled behind thick lashes, and he felt like taking her right then and there.

"You still feelin' all tingly and happy from earlier this morning?" he teased, shimmying his way down so that he could place his lips against the pulse on her neck. His free hand travelled down the flat line of her stomach until it rested teasingly atop her soft mound. She arched into his hand and he smirked against her throat. "Just admit it, Bon-Bon: I'm the best you've ever had."

"You're the _only_ one I've ever had," she managed to riposte, before a small moan escaped her lips. "I have no other point of reference."

"Like I said—" he slipped a middle finger between her wet folds and she gasped "—the best."

"You're so full of yourself," she grunted, before grabbing his face in her hands and hungrily attacking his lips.

"I'd rather you be full of me," he said between her breaths, adding a second finger with some effort. She was always so fucking tight and wet.

"You're such a pig," she giggled, and then gasped loudly when he curled his fingers inwards.

"Oink, oink, baby."

"Damon, you—"

Her words were cut off when he leaned down and put his mouth on a dusky-coloured nipple, making sounds of utter pleasure as his tongue lapped at her puckered flesh. His hand that had so unerringly found the folds between her thighs was now creating a rhythm as she bucked against him.

She juddered, her breath coming to her in gasps now, and he slowly withdrew his fingers before turning her over onto her side, spooning her against him. He was impossibly hard and he began to rub his shaft between the cleft of her ass, assuaging his need momentarily before lifting her leg and sliding his length between her thighs. Her heat was palpable, her wetness teasing.

"Damon, please."

"Please, what?" He slowly slid his shaft between her folds and she grabbed fistfuls of sheets.

"Please, _Damon_."

"Say it, Bonnie." He pressed his lips against her ear and deliberately teased the head of his cock against her opening. "I need to hear you say it."

"Damon! Wake up!"

He bolted up in bed, the satin sheets slipping off his chest and pooling thickly around his waist. It wasn't even dawn yet, from what he could tell, although he did have the curtains drawn for safety measures. But despite the darkness of the rooms, his sharp eyes narrowed to the doorway to spot the intruder: the blond and irritatingly nice Matt Donovan.

"What the actual fuck!" He wasn't sure if that was completely directed at Matt or the fact that a human had got the drop on him during a sex dream. "Why are you here?"

"Cause you weren't answering your phone," Matt groused, thankfully avoiding eye contact, "and cause Bonnie didn't want to come up here and find you naked."

"And _you_ did?"

"Hell no! We rock, paper, scissor'd it and I lost." He curiously glanced around the room, his personal disgust momentarily forgotten. "Where's Elena?"

"She's at Whitmore." He ran his fingers through his ink-black hair before swivelling his feet out of bed and planting them on the floor. "She has a meeting with one of her professors this morning, so she left last night—and why the fuck are you still here?"

"Whatever," Matt muttered, shooting Damon a nasty look. "Just get your ass downstairs. Bonnie's waiting."

"Oh, well, if the queen witch is waiting, I'll be right down!" he snarled at the blond's retreating form.

When Matt was finally out of sight, Damon bent over and held his head in his hands. He had just had a fucking sex dream about the new witch and now she was waiting for him downstairs? Thank God Elena wasn't here for that or he probably would have been dry-humping her in his sleep and calling out Bonnie's name. He would have had a fun time explaining that.

After a minute he finally stood up and got dressed, his mind constantly going back to the dream. It wasn't just some sex dream. It felt real, like a memory, and the images of other dreams, not so unlike the one he had just had, rose behind his eyes.

This witch, this Bonnie Bennett, was his dream girl. He had never made the connection before because the vervain and the warlock's (or Druid's) compulsion had messed with his head, but since the blood-bonding with Bonnie, things had become clearer. Older memories had surfaced, like the dreams he'd been having about some green-eyed girl for the past year. A green-eyed girl named Bonnie Bennett.

Blood-bond wouldn't affect them, his ass!

Somehow it was making him see himself with her. But then that didn't make a whole lot of sense since he'd been having these dreams before he met her. Or had his subconscious merely filled in her face when he'd met her?

Fuck, he didn't know anymore. He couldn't trust his own memories. But what he did know was that this little witch was lying to him or holding something from him. It felt like they all were, even Elena. But as much as he wanted to rip the secrets out of the witch, he needed to focus his attention on finding his little brother first. He'd get the answers he wanted soon enough, even if he had to bleed them out of her.

When he finally made it downstairs, Bonnie and Matt were seated at the island counter in the kitchen, eating doughnuts and drinking coffee. He walked past them, ignoring their inane chatter, and opened the fridge. He took out a blood bag and tore it open, pouring the thick red liquid into a mug.

"Having the breakfast of champions, I see," he said to Bonnie, pointing at the doughnuts. "You know those go straight to your hips."

She deliberately bit into a bear claw and smirked at him. "Better than those empty calories," she said, motioning to the mug of blood he had just popped into the microwave.

"Touché."

He pressed the button and waited for his blood to heat up, watching the pair in front of him laugh and reminisce like dear old friends. When she swung her head in his direction and their eyes met, he was suddenly reminded of The Zombies song, _She's Not There_.

The microwave beeped and she quickly averted his gaze. He took out his mug of blood and grimaced. Yeah, the little witch was lying to him. But why?

"So, do we have a plan to find Stefan or are you just going to sit there and develop love handles?" he asked, watching her sample yet another doughnut. A blueberry fritter?

She ignored him and took another bite just for spite, her eyes screwing up into the back of her head as she slowly chewed. The girl didn't just eat her food; she experienced it. When she set the half-eaten fritter back down on the plate and began licking off every digit, he wondered if he should book her a room with the pastry.

"I called a friend of mine last night to find out what Stefan's involvement with the Cabal was, so we'll know exactly what we're up against." She dabbed her lips with a napkin. "In the meantime, I say we go to the old plantation in Bedford Hills."

"Why Bedford Hills?" he asked, taking a sip from his mug.

"That's the place I saw in your memories last night. I think it's where you and Stefan were kept." There was a sad, faraway look on her face. "Grams had taken me there once when I was little."

"Bedford Hills, the winery?" Matt asked, interrupting her reveries, and the witch nodded. "Makes sense. They moved the winery north of Lynchburg. I think they're in the process of restoring it as a historical landmark."

"When did this happen?" she asked him.

"Not long after you left."

"So the place is deserted?"

"Far as I know."

"All right then," she said, lifting up her coffee cup. "So we'll head there after I finish my coffee and doughnut."

"Me?" Damon shook his head. "Nah, I can't go. I'm kind of allergic to sunlight at the moment, if you haven't noticed." He held up his left hand, showing off his ringless ring finger with a humourless smirk. "And this ain't _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_. I don't have a shitty Dodge DeSoto with blackened windows parked out back."

The witch just rolled her eyes at him.

"Hey, how about you take Mutt here with you instead?" He took a long gulp of blood and lifted his mug at the blond. "How about it, Matty? This is a chance to prove your worth to the group."

Matt just shook his head at Damon and scowled. "You're such an asshole."

"What's wrong, Mutt? You look constipated. Haven't been eating your Wheaties like a good growing boy?"

The younger man's scowl only deepened but he didn't take the bait. Instead, the new witch intervened.

"I'll make you a daylight ring," she said easily enough. "We just have to stop by my house for some supplies." She issued him a smirk over the top of her coffee cup. "The sun isn't up yet, so you think you can survive huddled up in the back seat of my rental car again? I've got a dog blanket in there with you name on it."

He scrunched up his nose in disgust like she had just suggested he eat her vomit.

"C'mon." She got up from her chair and snapped her fingers at him in summons. "You can help me with the footwork in Bedford."

"You can't be serious."

"Perfectly serious," she said. "Matt has work and Elena will be back later to keep an eye on the house in case Caroline or Stefan shows up, right?" He shrugged angrily. "Plus I'll need someone with a little brawn and brains on this operation, and you seem to have a bit of the latter tucked somewhere underneath all that hair.

"Besides, I need someone whose life I wouldn't care risking." A knot in his stomach tightened at this slight and he glared hotly at the witch. "Think about it, Damon. This is a chance for you to prove yourself."

The vampire snorted derisively. He didn't need platitudes. He knew his worth, which was a lot. But this supposed Bennett witch, she was the newbie, she was the liar, she was the one who needed to prove herself, not him.

"Damon, are you constipated?"

"What? No!"

"Then stop looking at me like I'm one of those idiot teenage floozies you used to insist on bedding," she quipped, before pausing thoughtfully with a grin. "Besides, I've already got a guy I like."

"I'm sure you do," he muttered. "And, FYI, Ms 1958, no one says 'floozies' and 'bedding' anymore. It's sluts and fucking now, little witch." He cocked his head to the side, unabashedly looking her up and down. "It's funny. You _look_ twenty yet you talk like a fifty-year-old."

"And you haven't changed a bit," she mumbled under her breath.

"What's that?" He had heard her perfectly, but the liar that she was had waved him off.

"I said if you don't get a move on, I'll set your ass on fire." His jaw clenched. Why was he so fucking turned on right now? "Let's go, or daylight will be burning you soon."

"Yes, ma'am." He mock saluted her and set his empty mug in the sink before turning to Matt. "Is she always this bossy?"

The blond just grinned. "Have fun, Damon." He turned towards Bonnie. "Oh, and if you do set him on fire, take a video of it."

"Will do." She winked at him and Damon just glowered.

"You two are hi-larious."

"C'mon," she ordered with another snap of her fingers. "Get the led out, Damon!"

"Coming, dear," he sing-songed, wishing her bossy attitude didn't make his dick jump every time.

He reluctantly followed her outside, giving Matt one last withered glare. Why couldn't this idiot come along? Damon really needed some sort of buffer zone right now, because he was either going to kill the witch or fuck her senseless by the end of the day.

"This is going to be fun."

**: : : :**

THEY CRUISED ALONG the I-81 NE, doing somewhere between fifty and sixty miles an hour. Bonnie didn't know for sure, only that what should have been an hour and a half trip was taking thirty minutes.

The car ride there was unnaturally silent, which was unusual since Damon normally never shut up. He seemed to be brooding or silently seething or maybe he was sulking over the 'cheap' daylight ring she had made him, even though the ring was one of his. Without any conversation and the radio volume set on low, Bonnie had nothing to do but rest her head against the window and watch the scenery whiz by.

The clouds had finally broken open, letting through the sun. Damon's blue 1969 Chevy Camaro seemed to glitter in the light, the chrome winking at passers-by, of which there were only two. The sunlight continued to spill across the rolling miles of trees and wet woods alongside the highway still slick with early-morning rain.

She had to admit that the view was gorgeous and solemn. The rain had given the landscape a sleek, washed look, deepening colours and fulfilling the texture of things. Everything seemed cleaner, brighter and sharper.

_Sharper_.

She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. She knew it wasn't just the rain cleaning the air and foliage that made everything clearer. It was the vampire blood still coursing through her veins. It had sharpened her vision and heightened her senses, even her emotions. For one fleeting moment she knew what it was like to be a vampire, emotion-wise, and it was too much at once.

Speaking of too much at once, she had tried to hide her apprehension at being alone with Damon, but her veneer was slowly cracking. The blood-bond had her feeling discombobulated and lost. She had never felt this way before when being fed blood in the past. This was decidedly different. She felt connected to Damon; she could feel his anger and his distrust and something else. Lust?

She winced at the thought. His attraction towards her must have been a result of the blood-bonding, or else she was imagining it in her head. If it was the former, she really hoped he hadn't seen any of her memories in the transfer, although his silent fuming suggested otherwise. But then his attitude right now wasn't exactly out of the ordinary. She did order him to come with her and told him she wouldn't mind risking his life. Damon didn't take kindly to being told that he was unimportant.

She rolled her neck back and forth along her shoulders, working out the kinks and easing the tension; hoping that this disorienting feeling would go away once the blood left her system. Normal blood-bonds took more than one session to set in and were usually done between vampires, so she didn't really have to fear being permanently bonded to him, but still . . .

Damon turned off the main highway onto a country road, driving near the outskirts of town before locating the dirt road that led to the back of the plantation. It was a road only used by workers and it led straight to the fields where the slave quarters were kept.

The surrounding town was only a few miles away, although it was initially formed around the plantation. The town had two other names before Bedford Hills. It had begun its municipal existence during the Antebellum Era in 1801 as Belle Plantation and consisted of over twenty thousand acres and several hundred slaves used to work the cotton fields. The plantation quickly expanded into a town, first with a post office, general store and lumber yard, and was eventually incorporated into the state of Virginia.

In 1866, more than a year after the slaves were freed, the plantation and its budding town was renamed Coopersville, after Samuel Lee Cooper, a lieutenant-colonel from the ex-Confederate's army. By 1973 it was petitioned to be renamed Bedford Hills, on account of the fact that a handful of Cooper's descendants had been vocal members of the Ku Klux Klan. Ten years later the plantation was turned into a winery, which was once again abandoned in order to be claimed as a historical landmark. The surrounding farmland was turned into corn and sugar cane crops for ethanol fuel.

As they drove down the narrow dirt road, Damon put the top down on the convertible and Bonnie inhaled deeply. The air was fresh and not as humid as it would be by mid-day. All was still and silent with no signs of industry; humanity, yes. There were a handful of barns and farmhouses nearby and a few pick-up trucks parked down long driveways, but otherwise the place seemed deserted.

Shouldn't the historical society have been in the process of restoring the plantation?

One thing Bonnie did notice was that there was a lot of light, and it struck her strongly. Its sweet clarity, so old and deep—those rays of sun slanting almost horizontally through the unravelling clouds. It was power, and it didn't belong to nature.

Damon parked the car near the gate where the road ended. They both got out and walked through the tall grass away from the beautiful colonnade-styled mansion towards a worn dirt path. As they drew closer to the small forest that outlined the fields, they spotted a crumbling embrasure that looked something like a limestone pillbox. Aside from housing the slaves, it must have also been used as a sort of bunker during the Civil War. Bonnie could only hope that the underground fared better the outside.

Once in front of the opening, Damon briefly peered inside before hanging back. Both could smell the lemony vervain inside and Bonnie motioned for him to stay put outside. He didn't protest.

She took out a flashlight and shone it around the low opening. It was dark and dusty and the thin beam of light did little to illuminate her path, but she steeled her nerves and carefully descended the narrow stairs. Her fingers moved over the rough stone of the walls for support, ignoring the black curtains of cobwebs that danced and writhed above her head.

It felt like she was entering a tomb.

When she finally reached the bottom, the path widened somewhat and opened out into a more spacious passage, but it was still cramped and slightly damp inside. Then there was a maddening howl of wind and she jumped, hand on her breast and thankful she was short or else her head would have hit the ceiling. She could smell fresh air mixed with the stale; it must have been funnelling through a draft somewhere. She idly wondered how far along this underground tunnel went, but she didn't exactly want to find out in the dark.

She shone the flashlight up at the ceiling and saw a network of dusty hanging ceiling lamps. They were little more than light bulbs encased in metal grates, the kind you'd expect to see in a bomb shelter. She looked around for a light switch but found a breaker instead and flipped the switches with a grunt. Nothing happened. No one had paid the electricity bill, apparently.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply and began reciting a spell, one of the few she had created herself to make technology amenable to magic. A few seconds later the whirl of electricity buzzed through the underground. The bulbs struggled to shed light, although more than half of them had busted filaments, but it was enough to give her a better view of things, including how long the corridor went, which looked to be a quarter of a mile before the light bulbs stopped. Honestly, she wished she had kept the lights off.

It all felt a little surreal, like she was walking through a horror movie. Everything was dark and dusty and covered with cobwebs. But the spaces on either side of the main corridor were not empty. They were filled with barrels and equipment. This place must have been used for storage after it was no longer needed to house the slaves. And what quarters they were, little more than tiny cells. Most were open but a few had bars on them. The farther she went down, though, she spotted a few with doors.

She ran her fingers along the walls and fragmented images flashed before her eyes. She saw slaves. She saw families living in squalor and fear and anger, yet there was love here too. Love and misery. But these images were fleeting, like looking through a photo album of fading black and white photographs.

As she travelled farther down the corridor, stronger images assaulted her. She sensed Caroline had been in one of these cells, Damon too, and someone else. It wasn't clear. Everything was sort of fuzzy and out of focus. As she drifted farther along, she touched a room with a steel door and the image of Stefan leapt out at her. He had been here, trapped in this locked room. Magic glowed all around the door, powerful, invasive and old.

The furtive sounds of small creatures scrambling across the dirt floor could be faintly heard in the distance and she blanched. Thinking it was just a mouse was being too optimistic. Who knew what foul things nested and bred down here? The thought of being up to her knees in rats was enough to make her turn around and run back up those stairs.

She had seen enough.

When she finally made it back outside into the light, Damon was waiting for her.

"Well?"

"Stefan was here, and Caroline." She inhaled deeply through her nose. "And someone else."

"Who?"

"Someone connected to you?" She shook her head with a grimace. "I don't know. I couldn't really see. Everything was sort of muffled in my head. But the Druids were definitely here, though they did a good job of removing their presence, except for the magic."

"Which means?"

"They might be monitoring this place, to see who'd come here."

Damon scrunched up his nose in distaste. "So you're saying they're watching us right now, like a bunch of perverts?"

"In a way?" She shrugged. "I'm not sure how they're doing it or why, but I think we should get out of here before they ambush us."

He nodded and led them back to the car. "You know if I were to magically spy on places, I certainly wouldn't pick an abandoned plantation."

"I don't even want to know."

When they reached the Camaro, he opened the passenger door for her. "Where do you think they took Stefan?"

"I don't know." She took out her phone and sat down. "I need to get ahold of Mei Mei."

"Who?"

"My friend—another witch—the one who has a contact in the Cabal." She held up her phone and frowned. "My phone doesn't seem to be working here. What about yours?"

He took out his phone and looked at it before showing it to her. "No bars. Welcome to the middle of nowhere."

"Let's head into town and find a payphone."

He shut her door and headed to the driver's side. "Do they even have those anymore?"

"I guess we'll find out."

Fifteen minutes later they had found a gas station with an old pay phone. After a ten minute conversation and a hell of a lot money charged to her credit card, Bonnie got off the phone and made one last phone call to Iain. It went directly to voice mail, again. She hung up.

"Who's Iain?" Damon asked, after she returned with a bottle of orange soda. Of course he'd been eavesdropping. He was Damon, after all.

"He's a friend."

"A _boy_ friend?"

"Does Iain sound like a girl's name to you?" She took a sip of her drink before screwing the cap on tightly. She knew how much of a freak he could be about food and drinks in the car. "He's someone who knows a lot about Druids."

"He's someone who's not picking up your calls," he snarked, glaring at her drink but allowing it.

"He's busy with his thesis." She shrugged half-heartedly, before pulling on the harness. She was the one who had made him install the seat-belts in the Camaro. Unlike him, she wasn't immortal. "He probably has his phone turned off."

"Yeah, and we all know what that means," he quipped, started the engine with a roar. "Or at least Beyoncé knows what that means."

"Shut up."

"Yup." He turned back onto the road. "Definitely a boyfriend—a _cheating_ boyfriend." She crossed her arms over her chest with a huff and he cooed at her, "Oh, don't pout, Bon-Bon. It's not attractive on you."

She whipped her head in his direction. "What?"

"What, _what_? You need me to clarify the reason why pouting isn't attractive on most women? It's the same concept as duck lips. You see—"

"D-don't," she stammered, before collecting her wits. "Just don't call me Bon-Bon." It reminded her too much of how things used to be between them, and how sweetly he had used that term of endearment with her. She didn't want the new him to shatter that sweetness, however deserved it was.

"Fine. Tetchy much?" He rolled his shoulders in a shrug, placing both hands on the wheel. "So what did your friend say?"

She relaxed. "That Stefan was involved with the divinity section of the Cabal, which is concerned with prophecies and predictions. One of their more powerful seers saw an old power rising in the West, and that witches would begin warring against one another."

"And where would this take place, exactly?"

She showed him a slip of paper where she had written down a name, phone number and address. "Manhattan, New York City. Stefan had a contact there named Edward Fry. A warlock."

"Is this guy even still alive?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, but it's the only lead we have."

"To New York we go, then." He turned on the exit back onto the highway.

"How long till we get there?" she asked him, unscrewing the top to her drink to take a sip.

"Well, it's almost an eight hour trip to Manhattan, if you include rush-hour traffic, and if I drive the speed limit." He gave a look that said he wasn't. "So that gives you plenty of time to tell me who you really are and why I know you, _Bon-Bon_."

She swallowed uncomfortably, the liquid going down the wrong pipe, and she coughed. He shot her a dirty look but she was glad hadn't spit it out, or else he'd really kill her.

Once she recovered, she cleared her throat and hazarded a glance in his direction. "What do you know?"

"That you're a liar," he said, sounding eerily calm. "But you're probably the best bet I have for getting my brother back." His eyes met hers and narrowed dangerously. "But if you don't want me to fit your heart into an ashtray, you had better start talking fast, witch."

**: : : :**

ELENA WEAVED HER fingers through the gauzy column of steam rising from her teacup, breaking it apart and swirling into separate coils. She had spent the entire day waiting for news about Stefan and Caroline, but Damon and Bonnie had yet to check-in and she was beginning to feel a little apprehensive, and a lot useless.

Matt and Jeremy were on shift at the Grill and Tyler was in the basement, stocking up to go out on yet another patrol. He had arrived in Mystic Falls earlier that day after finally getting Matt's messages. He had immediately gone to the sheriff's office and caught up with Liz before doing a sweep of the surrounding towns and hospitals. Just before dawn, he dropped by the boarding house to find out whether or not anyone had checked-in yet.

Still nothing.

Everyone was worried but they didn't know what to do, other than let those with the power do the patrolling and the sleuthing while the humans remained impotent. It was like Stefan and Caroline had dropped off the face of the earth and all Elena could do was sit around and wait for Bonnie and Damon to keep her updated, but there had been no calls, no reports. Nothing.

Frustrated, she threaded her fingers through her hair and glanced down at her blinking laptop. The Wi-Fi had been acting up all day, so she had decided to work on one of her term papers, but her mind refused to focus; it kept drifting back to Stefan. She couldn't forget the look on his face when he had caught her with Damon, and how easily he had walked out of her life.

She held no delusions. She had deserved it for what she had done to both him and Bonnie, even Damon. Her betrayal, her lack of morals, her unwillingness to see beyond her own selfish needs—it was all on her and it was all wrong. She was wrong.

She couldn't explain how she had let it all happen or why she had allowed herself to stay with Damon despite the fact that it was all a lie. But then she could never handle being alone very well. She had always relied on someone to carry her—her parents, Matt, Stefan, Damon. She had gone from one to the other without interruption. She couldn't be alone because being alone meant growing up and owning her responsibilities; it meant discovering who she was outside of a relationship. It meant self-realisation and she was afraid to see who she truly was, and how easily she could turn into someone like Katherine.

Sometimes she felt like she was two very different people existing in one body. There was old Elena—the Elena before her parents died, before vampires and the supernatural entered her life. She was a normal girl with normal cares and normal worries. Life was simpler then, uncomplicated. She lived for her friends and her family. She was a carefree teenager who didn't have to make choices, except what to wear to school.

The new Elena was birthed the moment her parents died and the Salvatore brothers entered her life. Suddenly she went from normal to special; coveted. She was the doppelgänger. She attracted the supernatural and the powerful, death and danger. She attracted the love and devotion of two brothers who were willing to do anything for her. People died in droves for her, sacrificed everything for _her_. But what had she done to deserve it other than exist?

She was _special_, like Bella Swan with her very own undeserved Edward and Jacob fighting over her, and eventually it had all gone to her head. Suddenly she had this martyrdom complex without actually being a martyr. She had never died for anyone, had never sacrificed her all, but others were more than willing to die for her without question. Two brothers fought over her, killed others so that she could live, but for what? For her to waffle over which one she loved the most? Was it even love at this point or just blind obsession?

She had tried so hard not to be like Katherine, convinced herself it would never happen, yet it had all unravelled so effortlessly. She hadn't even tried to put a wedge between the two brothers, but she hadn't discouraged it either. Or, more plainly put, she hadn't discouraged Damon. She had never admitted it, but she liked the attention; she romanticised his devotion while simultaneously condemning him. She was the queen of mixed signals.

The worst thing was that she had no excuse for what she did. Not once had she considered letting them go. She wanted them both, even though she knew all along that Stefan was the one, since the first moment she'd met him. But then Damon showed up and a darker part of her flared in response and need; she saw something in him, something dangerous yet redeeming. She was drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

It wasn't love, exactly. Curiosity at first, then love, and eventually fate. It wasn't even like she wanted to help him become a better man. She assumed he would change because she wanted him too. But even then, it didn't matter. She just wanted to be around him, to have him near and to have him consume her as much as she had to possess him.

It was co-dependency at its worse.

But the worst betrayal was what she had done to Bonnie. She was her best friend, her sister, yet in a moment of drunken lust Elena had betrayed that friendship and spit on her loyalty. This was a girl who had given her all to keep Elena safe and happy, and how had she repaid that friendship? By taking the one thing Bonnie didn't even know she had: Damon.

She could no longer blame the alcohol or even Damon himself. She knew he had used her to get back at Bonnie. Worse yet, she knew he had loved Bonnie, deeply. She had observed the way he acted around her and how badly he took the break-up. He loved Bonnie, probably more than he ever loved her. What she and Damon had was only a lust-fuelled obsession, and now? Now it was just settling, for the both of them.

For the past year they had begun to drift apart. She didn't leave him because he never told her to, and because she was afraid. She was afraid of being alone. She had no one else to go to. No Stefan. No one true love. She had already given up so much for Damon—her friendships and Stefan—and there seemed to be little point in giving up the rest. Damon was comfortable. Damon was safe. Damon was all she had.

Yet she knew one day that the truth would be revealed. Damon's memories would eventually come back or Bonnie would return them for him. He'd remember how much he loved Bonnie and how Elena had lied to him like everyone else. He would leave her like everyone else, like her parents.

She could see now that she had abandonment issues.

The old her, however, would have never let things get so out of hand. She would have begged Bonnie to reconsider, to give Damon back his memories, or she would have told Damon herself. She certainly wouldn't have stayed with him just because Stefan had left and she had made her choice and had to live with it. She wouldn't have settled with her shame, blaming everyone else but herself.

Right now she wanted nothing more than to find the old Elena locked inside herself and embrace her, beg her to come back and throw some semblance of normalcy and decency back into her life. She owed everyone so much and she had no idea how to start. No idea how to make things right again.

Exhaling shakily, she took a sip of her cooling tea and sighed. Now wasn't the time to get mired in self-pity and doubt. She had to think about someone other than herself for a change. When they found Stefan and Caroline and Bonnie returned Damon's memories, she would take full blame for everything. She knew this wouldn't make things right or square between her and Bonnie, but she didn't expect to be forgiven. She didn't deserve it, but still it was a start.

She set down her cup and clicked on the document file when she heard and felt a faint rush of air as Tyler suddenly sped past her. He opened the front door wide, revealing a slightly harrowed-looking Caroline who was bracing herself against the doorway.

"Caroline!" She spun around in her chair, her elbow bumping the teacup and sloshing some of the tea onto the table and her laptop. Ignoring the spill, she jumped up and rushed over to the door as Tyler held the blonde in his arms.

"Elena," she breathed in relief, before turning her head up at Tyler and giving him a watery smile. "Hey you."

"Hey." He returned her smile and swept her up into his arms, gently placing her on one of the sofas in the parlour.

"A-are you okay?" Elena asked, hovering over the blonde. "Are you hurt at all?"

"No, not really." She fished a small leaf pendant out of her jeans pocket. "Bonnie's birthday gift saved me and I was able to escape. I would have been here sooner but I had no daylight ring."

She tried to sit up but Tyler gently pushed her back down.

"Whoa, easy there." His brown eyes softened on her. "You're not okay, Care. You need to rest."

"I'm just a little woozy," she said, waving him off, although she did look paler than usual. "Those warlock guys did quite the number on me."

"I'll get you some blood," Tyler said, making like he was going to head for the basement but needed her permission first in order to leave her side. Her smile widened at this consideration and she nodded her assent.

"Thanks, honey."

When Tyler sped off, Elena took the throw blanket off the back of the sofa and laid it over top of the vampire, even though she didn't need it. She hated seeing her friend so weak and vulnerable like this. Caroline was so strong; she was a vampire, yet she looked almost as bad as Damon did when Bonnie had brought him back to the boarding house. What had been done to them?

"Who did this to you?"

"Some kind of warlocks," Caroline rasped, smiling up at Tyler when he handed her several bags of blood. "They took some of my blood and my ring."

"I patrolled all the outlining towns and hospitals," he said, helping Caroline drink. "Where the hell were they keeping you?"

"The old plantation in Bedford Hills."

"Did you see Stefan there?" Elena asked, and Caroline glanced up at her with wide, sorrowful eyes.

"I remember Stefan and Damon trying to escape before me," she said slowly, her brow knitting in confusion. "Well, sorta. It's a bit hazy. Are they here?"

Elena shared a worried look with Tyler before shaking her head. "No, Stefan's still missing. But Damon made it back, thanks to Bonnie."

"Bonnie?"

"Yeah, she found him on the road and brought him here yesterday."

This time Caroline managed to sit up. "Is she still here?"

"She's with Damon, trying to find Stefan." When Caroline's eyes bugged out of their sockets, Elena softly shook her head. "Don't worry, she's fine. And if your next question is where they are, I can't say. I haven't heard from them all day and my phone doesn't seem to be working, or the Wi-Fi."

Caroline hands suddenly snapped out and curled around Elena's collar, pulling her down. "We have to get ahold of them, Elena. Right now!"

Tyler gently pried Caroline's fingers off Elena's shirt and calmly coaxed her back down. "Care, be careful. I've got ya."

"W-what are you trying to say, Caroline?"

"It's Bonnie!" she whined. "She's the one they wanted all along!"

"They?" Elena frowned. "What do you mean?"

"T-the one who kidnapped me. The one who's in charge—it's Bonnie's boyfriend, Iain!"

Elena's mouth dropped open in shock and Tyler looked at her for a moment before turning back to Caroline.

"Care, you need to get some more blood in you and then you need to rest." He picked her back up, probably intent on taking her into one of the guest rooms, when she grabbed onto Elena's shirt.

"You have to get ahold of Bonnie." Elena nodded furtively, gently touching the blonde's face. "And my mom. Can you call her?"

"Sure, I'll—actually, I'll stop by the sheriff's office since the phones aren't working."

"Thanks." She smiled and let go before gazing rapturously at Tyler. "I'm so happy you came back."

"You're crazy if you thought I wouldn't drop everything the moment I found out you were in trouble." He kissed her forehead. "But next time you plan on doing some dangerous sleuthing, let me know in advance. Okay?"

"Okay."

Elena watched the two leave before grabbing her jacket and car keys. Since her phone wasn't working, she'd have to buy a map at the gas station and get directions to Bedford Hills the old-fashioned way.

She was determined to help Bonnie and get Stefan back, no matter the cost to herself.

**: : : :**

"SO YOU'RE SAYING that Stefan knew?"

After twenty minutes of angry and slightly fearful silence in the car, Bonnie had eventually told Damon the truth, or at least what he assumed was _most_ of the truth. As he had suspected, they had once known each other and had even dated, but they had broken up and she had made him forget her.

After her painful confession, he had spent the next five and half hours pointedly ignoring her. He wasn't going to lie; he was furious. He had even considered throwing her out of the car at one point, just to listen to her scream, but his sensible side—if it did indeed exist—pointed out the fact that this would be incredibly stupid on his part. He needed the witch to find Stefan. So he pushed his anger deep down inside himself, relocating it to the file of 'revenge to be later served'.

"Everyone knew," she said irritably, retrieving their hotel key card from the front desk. "I erased myself from _your_ mind, not theirs."

"Aww, so what happened?" he cooed, snatching the card from her as he was the one who had footed the bill for the damn room. "Did I break your heart?"

He didn't like being lied to and he certainly didn't like being manipulated, but a part of him was impressed that she had the power to do something like that; something only an Original could do. Yet he couldn't help but wonder _why_ she had done it in the first place.

"If that were the case, then I would have erased you from my mind."

He frowned and then pointed to himself with the card. "So you're saying that you broke _my_ heart?"

She headed over to the elevator and pressed the UP button. "No, I broke up with you. As we all know, you don't take rejection well. I wanted a new start and blanking me from your mind was the only way to do it cleanly, and without any blood spilt."

"You see, I'm still not exactly comforted by this." He poked her bare shoulder with the card before stepping onto the elevator. "You messed with my head, witch, and I don't like people messing with my head."

She pressed the button for their floor and sighed. "I promise you that I didn't do anything to betray you or hurt Elena."

"Who cares about Elena?"

"You should?" She glanced up at him askance and suddenly he was very angry with how maturely she was dealing with this, especially since _she_ was obviously in the wrong here, not him. "Look, when this is over, I will give you your memories back."

"How considerate of you," he said dryly. "Your compassion knows no bounds."

The elevator dinged, signally that they had arrived at their destined floor, and the doors promptly opened. Damon stepped off first, walking a few feet before noticing that Bonnie was still standing in the elevator, staring at her shoes. He exhaled slowly with a roll of his eyes and walked back over, bracing his arm against the door so that it wouldn't close.

"I don't feel good about what I did to you, Damon," she said suddenly, glancing up at him through thick lashes. "It wasn't a victory over you. I wasn't trying to punish you or put one over. At the time I thought it was the best thing for everyone involved.

"You don't know how many times I wanted to come back and reveal everything to you, to make things right again, but by then I was too—" she shrugged helplessly "—I don't know. It doesn't really matter, does it? Because I was wrong and I was a coward, and I'm sorry."

He glared at her, hard, trying to maintain his anger and indignation, but it was already seeping out of him in small increments. "Yeah, well, forgive me if I don't accept your apology."

"I don't expect you to."

She was looking up at him so earnestly, her expression naked, that he felt marginally uncomfortable. Somehow it didn't seem right that she was apologising to him. It seemed rare, like watching the birth of a unicorn.

"So are you comin' or what?" He motioned for her to get off the elevator. "I'm fine if you want to sleep out in the hallway or whatever, but I'm not sure how the housekeeping staff will feel about it when they run into you with their carts in the morning."

She blinked rapidly at him for a moment before a slow smile angled across her lips. She nodded curtly and stepped off the elevator, letting him lead the way to their room. They had decided to get a hotel room for the night and check out Fry's Wiccan shop in the morning, or Damon had decided this. He really didn't have the patience right now to go sleuthing with the witch. He just wanted a drink, a nice fuck and a good night's rest.

He'd have to settle for two out of three.

Once inside he went straight to the phone next to the bed and dialled Elena's number. There was no answer. After leaving a message on her voice mail, he hung up and all of his anger and frustration came flooding back to him all at once. Elena too had boldly lied to his face about Bonnie, whether he knew her or not, which made her just as culpable and just as flawed as everyone else, if not more so. For some reason this disturbed him. She was supposed to be the love of his life but she lied to him. What else had she lied to about?

"Do we really have to share the same room?" the witch whined, setting her jacket down on one of the chairs before pointing to the king-sized bed that he was currently sitting on. "And the same bed, too?"

He had got them the same room to keep an eye on her, and a king-sized bed just to fuck with her. Despite his current mood and the fact that he was technically dating Elena, he wouldn't mind copping a feel while the witch slept next to him. He really hoped she slept naked, like in his dreams.

His dick instantly hardened at the thought.

"Someone has to keep an eye on you," he said, rising to his feet. "Plus I don't trust you."

"Fair enough." She bowed her head and made her way to the bathroom when he suddenly had her pinned against the wall, his hands resting on either side of her head.

"So tell me, _witch_—" he pressed his groin into her stomach before feathering his fingertips along the long column of her neck "—what keeps me from ripping your throat out right now?"

She lifted an incredulous eyebrow at him, showing absolutely no fear. "Aside from me lighting you on fire if you even dared?" He shrugged nonchalantly but his dick jumped in his pants again. Damn second head with a mind of its own. "But you won't kill me because you _need me_."

"To help find Stefan," he said softly, bringing his fingertips up to her lips, his gaze drawn to their plumpness and the way they parted as she drew in a breath.

After a few seconds his mind cleared and he withdrew his hands from her, taking a measured step back. She was right—he wasn't going to kill her, not now—but he didn't have to like that she knew this and wasn't afraid of him. And he certainly didn't have to give into his lust or whatever the hell this was. Infatuation? No, this lying bitch would not get the best of him.

"You're a liar," he all but growled, saying it more for himself than for her.

It was like he needed to convince himself not to like her, to not be attracted to her because he didn't trust her. But trust at this point meant very little as she stepped into his space, her pert breasts pushing into his lower sternum. He could feel her nipples hardening like pebbles against his thin shirt and he wanted to brush the pads of his thumbs over them just to feel her shudder against his skin.

"Yeah, but like you said—I'm your best bet at getting your brother back."

Her green eyes glinted in the fluorescent light, challenging him to throw-down. It was the proverbial glove slap; it was the 'just try to mess with me and see what happens' dare. It was fucking sexy as hell.

His fingers twitched at his sides, itching to touch her face, to take it in his hands as he attacked her lips, but he reined himself in at the last moment. He turned his head away and glanced down at the king-sized bed before returning his gaze to her mouth.

Yeah, this was going to be one hell of a long, blue-balled filled night.

**: : : :**


	7. She's Not There

BONNIE STIRRED AWAKE with a moan, rubbing her cheek against the coolness of her pillow. She breathed deeply and exhaled, feeling rested and content in her own skin. There was a slight weight pressing on the small of her back but she ignored it in favour of stretching her legs.

Shifting slightly on the hard mattress, she brought her arms around to hug the pillow but found that they couldn't quite reach all the way around. She paused sluggishly, her brow wrinkling in a frown.

Something wasn't right.

She opened her eyes, expecting to adjust them to the light, when her vision was eclipsed by pale ivory skin. Huh? That was when she noticed that her face wasn't planted in a pillow but in Damon's board chest. She was using the vampire as a body pillow.

"Oh God!"

She tried to pull away but her legs were tied up in his and she twisted, falling off him and back onto the mattress with a grunt. She desperately tried to untangle her legs and arms from his limbs, but suddenly a pair of strong hands reached out and pulled her back into him as he rolled over onto his side.

"Where do you think you're going?" he whispered huskily, his lips pressed against the shell of her ear.

She exhaled a quiet whimper as one of his large hands slipped under her yellow tank top and glided across her stomach before rising up to gently test the weight of her naked breast. The pad of his thumb traced over a sensitive nipple, circling it until it hardened, before teasingly moving to the other.

She gasped, involuntarily shuddering underneath his touch. He nuzzled his face into the side of her neck with a grin, planting chaste kisses along her pulse as he breathed in her scent. His hands alternated between both breasts, squeezing and tugging at her nipples, and she threw her head back towards his cheek while exposing the long column of her neck.

His mouth eagerly sought the thin silky strip of flesh and sucked gently, blunt teeth grazing along raised tendons. She arched her back with a breathy moan and began grinding her ass into his crotch. His dick sprang to life, slapping against her backside and wetting the seat of her pyjama bottoms.

After a moment he let go of her breast and let his hand trail down her stomach, slipping into the waistband of her pants. When his fingers unerringly found her opening, wetting a middle finger to trace over her clit, the gloriously electrifying sensation briefly returned her faculties and she jolted in his embrace.

"No! Damon, stop!" She pulled his hand out of her pants, his fingers brushing along her stomach and leaving a wet trail. "You don't want to do this."

She slipped out of his embrace and stumbled to her feet, placing a hand on her wildly beating heart. She was panting and hot and it was taking all of her will-power not to jump back into bed with him.

She wasn't even sure how she managed to fall asleep on top of him in the first place, especially since they were sharing a king-sized bed. Although it shouldn't have been all that surprising considering that's how they used to sleep when they were together; tangled up so closely that one couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

"What do you mean _I_ don't want this?" He sat up, glaring at her hotly, before bringing his middle finger to his mouth to taste.

She closed her eyes at the image and breathed deeply before opening them again. "You're with Elena now. We shouldn't be doing—" she floundered "—whatever we were gonna do."

He lowered his hand and tilted his head, staring at her curiously for a moment. She knew this face; he was trying to read her. Then his eyed widened slightly before crinkling flirtatiously.

"Wishful thinking, witch," he said with a leer, leaning back against the headboard with his arms folded behind his head. "It was just morning wood and you were a convenient body."

Her face fell. Right. Of course. It had nothing to do with her. He probably thought she was Elena and this only pissed her off more—more than it should have.

"Wasn't meant to be offensive," he said, looking her up and down as he slid his hand down to rub at his dick underneath the covers. "You have a great body. Who wouldn't be turned on having _that_ spooned against him or lying on top of him in the morning?"

"I'm going to take a shower," she said promptly, feeling the heat flood her cheeks and elsewhere. She did not need him to make things more awkward than they already were.

"I'll be here, naked and waiting."

She gritted her teeth in supreme annoyance and took off into the bathroom. He was such a pig. A sexy asshole pig of a vampire who she should have been over by now but wasn't. She wondered if she ever would, and the thought that she wouldn't was both comforting and sad.

Swiftly discarded her pyjamas, she turned on the hot water and stepped into the shower. The spray of the water felt good on her skin, easing the tension from her limbs little by little until she felt boneless and relaxed. She unwrapped the soap from its plastic packaging and began to lather, kneading her skin with slender fingers. And as she bathed, her mind inevitably drifted back to Damon.

How had he been so calm after she revealed the truth to him? She had anticipated a violent backlash, maybe even for him to try to throw her out of the car. She had been prepared for that, assuming she would have to put him down, but he had been surprisingly level-headed about the entire affair. Sure, he was still angry with her and everyone else for lying to him, but he had managed to put that anger aside in order to focus on the well-fare of his brother.

It was unexpected.

Maybe her compulsion spell really had changed him. He seemed to be a better brother now, or maybe Elena made him a better person. The last thought left a bitter taste in her mouth; not that she was jealous or anything. She should be happy that Damon was a better man, no matter who got the credit for influencing him, but a little part of her was disappointed that it wasn't her.

Humming a tune, she began to shampoo her hair. She hated the fact that her thoughts always wandered back to Damon. Back in Canada it was easier to forget him. Out of sight, out of mind. But here, sharing the same hotel room and the same bed, it was damn-near impossible not to remember how things used to be between them. The banter, the passion and the excitement. It also didn't help when he put his hand down her pants while she was still dazed from sleep.

She should have been more diligent. She should have forced him to sleep on the floor. She had foolishly assumed that she was emotionally secure enough to share the same bed with her ex and _not_ have anything happen. And even though he was probably thinking of Elena when he fondled her, a part of her was willing to ignore that and let things continue.

Did that make her a slut?

When she finally finished washing up, she turned off the tap and stepped out of the shower. She barely had the towel wrapped around before she noticed Damon standing naked in front of the fogged-up mirror.

"Jesus, Damon!" She jumped, grabbing at the front of her towel. "You scared me!"

He said nothing at first, just stared at her, cataloguing her features. Her own eyes unabashedly roamed over his naked torso, refusing to go any lower and follow the sparse treasure trail downwards. Instead, she forced herself to look up, following the sculpted planes of his stomach and chest and over the ridges of his collarbone and staves of his neck until she reached his face.

Her attention shifted from his jaw and the hard slant of his cheekbones to the soft bow of his mouth. It twitched upwards at the corners in a slight smirk.

"Did you plan on saving some hot water for me?" he asked, taking a deliberate step closer. There was a teasing lilt to his voice but the glint in his eyes was predatory.

She stood to full height, refusing to be intimidated; refusing to be the prey.

_Don't look down_, she reminded herself, keeping her gaze fixed on his eyes. She had only been afraid of Damon once in her life, before she knew about the powers she held, and she wasn't about to start up again. However, the predatory gleam in his eyes right now had nothing to do with harming her—not physically, at least.

There was an almost bird-like tilt of his head as he examined her, making her weak. The pupils of his eyes had dilated so widely that there was only a thin ring of silver-blue, and she had to tighten the towel around her breasts to remind herself that she was almost naked and in the same room with a predator.

Suddenly her blood felt too high, her cheeks too hot. She knew perfectly well what feelings were being stirred inside her right now and she resented them even as they held her captive.

Why couldn't he be ugly or completely uninterested in her?

"Sorry, all out," she quipped lightly. "But if you'd like to feel warm, I could always light you on fire."

"Promises, promises," he drawled, brushing against her before bending over to turn on the taps.

Her eyes instinctively went to the broad lines of his back and deliciously sculpted ass and she closed her eyes as if in pain. She had a boyfriend, she reminded herself, even though he wasn't picking up her calls and she was currently drawing a blank on his name. What was it again? Iain! Yes, that was his name. Iain.

Iain was her boyfriend, not Damon.

She repeated this mantra as she quickly escaped the bathroom; until the naughty thoughts went away.

**: : : :**

IAIN WAS SINGING.

"Well no one told me about her. What could I do? Well no one told me about her, though they all knew."

He sauntered down the torch-lit path.

"But it's too late to say you're sorry. How would I know? Why should I care? Please don't bother trying to find her; she's not there.

"Well let me tell you about the way she looked, the way she acted, the colour of her hair. Her voice was soft and cool; her eyes were clear and bright, but she's not there!"

Stefan watched from the shadows as his captor did a little dance in front of the opening to the tomb before turning off his phone with a chuckle.

"Great song, that," he said. "By The Zombies. Part o' the British Invasion of '64. Ya had that recently, didn't ya?" He waved his hand. "A British invasion, not zombies. That'd be weird."

Stefan stepped into the torchlight and Iain's grin widened, pearly white teeth all standing in two neat rows. He slipped his phone into his jacket and casually leaned against the wall near the barrier.

"E'er seen a zombie before, Stefan?" The vampire slowly shook his head. "Right awful things. They do exist, y'know—not the brain-eating types, mind ya. The real kind are the ones ya find in bedlams with vacant expressions and drool dribblin' down their chins as they throw their excrement at the walls, painting foul, awful pictures of headless kittens or somethin' equally terrifyin'.

"Or they're the kind ya see out on the streets, always dressed in a mac even when it's not rainin', lookin' like they're 'bout ready ta gut ya with an ice pick before draggin' ya back ta their cabin in the woods. I think that's like a prereq or somethin'—the cabin in the woods, not the ice pick.

"The brain or flesh-eating types ya see in the films, they're just a perversion of the vampire myth, not that it's a myth—" he pointed to Stefan "—as you, yerself, prove. But yer lot can be turned into 'em with a wee bit o' help. Scary thought, innit?"

Stefan exhaled a long-suffering sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. Ever since they relocated back to Mystic Falls, the Irish prick never shut up. Was he going to talk him to death?

"Why are you telling me all of this?"

"Cause monologuing it would make me come off as a touch mental, mate—" Iain waved his hand at his temple "—and I'm already right eccentric enough as it tis."

"Yeah, you don't want to give people the wrong impression," he muttered humorously.

"Ya should be more appreciative of my attentiveness, Stefan. I came all the way down 'ere just ta check up on ya, see how yer likin' yer new digs." He pushed off the wall. "There's even a bed in the back." He made a double tchick sound before waggling his brow suggestively. "Nice, eh?"

The vampire lifted a sceptical eyebrow. "The tomb under Fell's Church? You think my friends won't find me here?"

"Nah, they're too distracted and yer brother's busy keepin' my girl Bonnie company." He angled his head inquisitively. "D'ya think he still fancies her, even with the compulsion ta make 'im ferget her an' all that? He's bound to be right pissed when he finds out yav'll been lyin' to 'im."

"What do you care?"

"Well, I don't care about 'im exactly, but he is with my girl right now, and he tends to go right mental when he doesn't get his way, doesn't he?"

"He'd never hurt Bonnie." Not physically, at least. "And she won't be your girl once she finds out you're behind all of this.

Iain pursed his lips. "Aye, yer probably right, but she's fergiven you and her supposed best friends fer far worse; so why not me? Although if we do stay together, we're gonna have ta have a talk about her takin' a trip to New York City with her ex."

"They're in New York?"

"Sharing a hotel room together an' everythin', all cosy-like."

Stefan blinked, nonplussed. "But I thought Bonnie was a part of your plan. I thought you wanted her here."

"I do, eventually, but I also needed her and that brother of yers to leave the state fer a bit. Give me some time ta set things up around 'ere an' such. Create a lil mood lightin'. I'm a romantic."

"So what's your big plan, then?" He held up a hand to prevent the Druid from interrupting. "Yeah, I know you're not a Bond villain and you're not going to reveal your intentions to me, but it seems like you need Bonnie to help you execute this plan of yours to rid the world of vampires."

"Mate, if I wanted ta get rid of all the vampires, I'd just kill the Originals." When the vampire's eyes widened at this, Iain placed a hand over his mouth and gasped dramatically. "Oh, wait, I'm sorry—was no one else supposed ta know about that?

"Y'know, despite all claims ta the contrary, the Originals aren't all that original. Fat lot o' liars is wot they are, but then there's always got ta be those braggers in the group who think they're the first when they're really just late to a party that's been going on fer ages longer than it should've.

"I mean ya had ta suspect that their background was a wee bit spurious when they claimed ta be Scandinavians settlin' as far fuckin' inland as south-west Virginia. Ya don't strike me as the daft type, Stefan. Ya had ta've wondered about their story. Vikings ne'er travelled this far south an' they certainly ne'er went so far inland.

"And then ya got the Petrova doppelgänger, Tatia? Are you telling me that a Bulgarian settled in North America five hundred years before Christopher Columbus even farted in the direction o' the Bahamas? Wot; did she hitch a ride with the Vikings? And don't even get me started on Ayana—"

"I won't," Stefan interrupted, rubbing at his temples. This guy was literally going to give him a migraine, and not the witchy kind. He talked more than Damon and somehow managed to be infinitely more sarcastic and uselessly informative. "What are you trying to say?"

"Just that the Originals relied greatly on yer ignorance o' history and geography, and yer unwillingness ta question the fundamentals. But I don't fault ya fer that. Yer American; fact-finding isn't really yer strong suit.

"Still, none o' that is anythin' ta hold a grudge against. I don't have much of a problem with vampires. Sure, they're a perversion of nature, along with hybrids and werewolves, but I'm not tryin' ta rid the world of 'em. This isn't Bosnia. I'm not General Mladić startin' some ethnic cleansing 'ere.

"But ya know wot does have me scratching my head in wonder, Stefan? It's how witches, who created vampires in the first place, are subservient to them. Ain't fuckin' right when ya think about it."

"So you're here for the witches?"

"In a roundabout way, I suppose. But, ya see, most o' my kind hates witches. They're the reason our power has all but diminished in this world. Personally, I don't mind 'em so much. They're a bit o' a judgemental and self-righteous lot, but who can blame 'em? They've been screwed over by yer kind again an' again, and maybe even by my own a few times. I'd help 'em, if I could.

"In fact, if I could have just one Christmas wish this year, it'd be for all the witches of the world to come together and take down you self-important vampire lot. Now if I had two Christmas wishes, it'd be fer me to reign over the witches as their supreme and unopposed ruler. And if I could have _three_ Christmas wishes, it'd be fer a month-long orgasm shared with the most beautiful women o' the world."

"Just kill me now," Stefan muttered.

"Wot? You can join in the fun, if you like."

The vampire blanched. Why was it that all the big bads they went up against were instantly drawn to him, male or female? He was like supervillain catnip.

But was Iain really a supervillain? Could he actually kill an Original or was that just tough guy talk? If he was that badass, why did he need Bonnie's help so badly? He was beginning to wonder why every supernatural calamity in this world had everything to do with Elena, himself and Bonnie, and possibly Damon. It didn't make sense.

"Actually, I take back the first wish," Iain said, pushing off the wall. "I don't want ta waste wishes, so scratch the one where witches rise up ta take down vampires. I'll just settle fer the month-long orgasm with beautiful women and an army o' witches under my command." He sighed dispassionately. "Sadly, the latter'll be easier ta achieve than the first. But I'm a dreamer, Stefan, a perpetual optimist."

The vampire dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and sighed. "You're crazy. You know that, right?"

"Maybe. But aren't we all a wee bit mad sometimes?"

He dropped his hands to his sides and sighed. "So let me get this straight: you want to control the witches for . . . ?"

"I want wot's rightfully mine," he said. "I want ta return the Druids ta their original status before witches cocked it up for everyone."

Stefan's brow creased in confusion before it finally dawned on him. "That's what the prophecy was about? Making the witches go to war against one another so that you could, what, take their power?"

"Prophecies are tricky things, mate," he said with a grin. "But, y'know, I've already told ya too much. Ya have a trusting face, Stefan, or maybe I am a bit of a Bond villain, havin' deep conversations about my aims with the man I plan on killin'—vampire, sorry. I'm all about political correctness.

"But don't worry. I promise ya won't die horribly or extravagantly. There'll be no lasers aimed at yer bollocks or shark tanks or anythin' ridiculous o' the sort. A good, clean death."

"Gee, thanks."

"I really enjoy our chats." He smiled and looked as though he was about to reach through the barrier and pat Stefan on the shoulder, but he didn't. "Well, I've got ta attend to our other guests. Another one will be arriving shortly. It's all very excitin'."

Stefan could only frown as he watched the young man walk away. He couldn't help but feel that everything was already starting to slip away from him.

**: : : :**

DAMON STEPPED OUT of the bathroom as naked as the day he was born. He didn't bother to hide his nudity, mainly because that was who he was and he wasn't ashamed of his body. He knew he looked damn good, naked or clothed, and the witch should know it, too.

Besides, she had obviously seen him naked before since they had once dated. It shouldn't have been a big deal; however, after the bathroom incident, he had reached the conclusion that he made her uncomfortable and that tickled him for some reason. For all her shyness, she gave off the aura of a little hell-cat. He had a feeling she was very flexible and kinky. The outwardly reserved ones were usually freaks in the sack.

Earlier that morning when he had been fondling her, he had thought it was another vivid dream. So when it finally got to the good stuff, he had expected to wake up instead of having her pull away from him and throw Elena in his face. He was momentarily dumbstruck because not only had he realised that he had actually molested the witch but that he didn't feel guilty about it in the slightest. Not for what he did to her or the fact that he had unknowingly cheated on Elena.

But shouldn't he have felt bad about betraying his girlfriend? Shouldn't he have hated the witch who lied to him? Shouldn't he have not licked his fingers clean once she stormed off into the bathroom?

He didn't exactly know anymore, and it was a rather freeing sensation.

"Nothing like a hot shower in the morning," he said, flashing her a sexy grin while pulling on his jeans. He didn't bother putting on a shirt yet. Might as well make her drool a little.

The witch mumbled something in response, her mouth full of a cherry cheese Danish. She sat at the small table near the bed, glancing down at her tablet and alternating between taking bites of the pastry, drinking a latte and reading. She was already dressed in a pair of skinny jeans, black halter top and a smoking hot tight brown leather jacket. Her hair was still damp but braided to the side in a chunky fish-tail, showing off a pair of lapis lazuli earrings.

"So, where can a vampire get something to drink around here?" he asked, a little annoyed that she hadn't thought to pick up anything for him. He ate human food too, for show, and it was only polite to offer.

"That-a-way," she said, pointing in the direction of the mini-fridge. "I put your blood bags in the fridge last night."

"Thanks," he said, somewhat surprised by her generous foresight. "How ever can I return the favour?"

He stood in front of her, half-naked, waiting for some sort of acknowledgement of his devilishly handsome good looks—a smile or a giggle, even the slighted blush would do. But there was nothing, no outward response to his physical presence. Instead, she ignored him and scrolled through her tablet, acting like he wasn't even in the room with her.

Huffing, he strode towards the mini-fridge and wished carpal tunnel syndrome on the little witch. Maybe it was time to rework this whole getting-by-on-his-charms-and-good-looks thing when it came to witches. They never seemed to buy it, especially this witch. Sure, he could make her uneasy and shy but he couldn't turn her on? Horseshit!

He had to wonder how he dated someone like her in the first place, aside from the fact that she was hot and powerful. She seemed to be immune to his charms and that only made him question what she saw in him, which depressed him for some reason.

He frowned thoughtfully. Why should he care about what she saw in him?

"The Wi-Fi isn't working on my tablet," she murmured mostly to herself, setting the computer down on the table with a sigh. "I'm gonna get directions to the Wiccan shop from front desk."

He just shrugged his response, biting into a blood bag. He stared after her brisk steps across the room and his eyes caught the gentle sway of her hips and the long, shapely stretch of her legs. All thoughts of blood and how he had once dated her left his head. Now all he could think about was how the jut of her pelvic bones would fit perfectly against his palms and how wonderfully her body would mould against his, much like it had earlier this morning.

When the door shut behind her, he adjusted himself. _Down, boy._

After making sure she was at the elevator, he threw the empty blood bag on top of the mini-fridge and went over to the table. With the witch gone he could finally snoop through her things and discover a bit more about her. It was time to invade her privacy like a class A pervert.

First he riffled through her duffel bag, finding only clothing and toiletries. Then he went through her tote bag, pulling out her wallet first to check her ID. Her driver's license confirmed her age and name and he grunted in surprise. Huh. So she really was a Bennett.

Intent on finding some dirt, he fingered through her wallet and pulled out a small photograph, the kind you got from one of those cheesy mall photobooths. It showed the witch smiling at some young, good-looking guy with dark wavy hair and blue eyes. They had their arms around each other and were gazing adoringly at one another, looking perfectly in love.

He must have been her boyfriend.

_Looks like a douche_, he thought to himself, frowning uncharitably at the supposed boyfriend before slipping the photo back inside her wallet so that he could carry on with his surreptitious exploration of the witch's belongings.

He rummaged through the rest of her tote, hoping to find something daring, like a dildo or a vibrator—something he could tease her about later. She obviously didn't keep such things in her duffel bag, although he did find some sexy lingerie he'd love to see her model for him, instead of the cutesy duck pyjamas she wore last night. However, the bonus about those was that she didn't wear a bra with the yellow tank top, which he had quickly discovered while fondling those lovely tits of hers this morning.

He smiled at the recent memory. Good times.

His fingers then found purchase on something smooth and cool at the bottom of the bag and he smirked. _C'mon, vibrator!_ But when he pulled out a Victorian ivory hair comb, he was at a loss for words and so confused that he didn't even try to hide his sticky fingers when Bonnie returned to the room.

"I forgot the piece of paper with the address," she said, glancing up to see him with her purse, and her expression soured. "Damon, what the hell?"

Was that her catch phrase?

He held up the ivory comb. "Why do you have my mother's comb?"

Her expression went from livid to confused and then shocked. "T-that was your mother's?"

"Yep." He sauntered over to where she stood, twirling the comb between her fingers. "So why do you have it?"

Her brow furrowed indignantly. "Are you implying that I _stole_ it?"

"No." He reached for her face and she didn't flinch, even as he tucked the comb into the back of her braid. "I'm just curious when Stefan gave it to you."

"Stefan?"

"He's obviously the one you like, right?"

She kept talking about this Iain guy who didn't return her calls and who was probably the same douche in the photograph, but he had a feeling that Stefan was the one she really liked. Plus he figured his brother felt the same about the witch, and for some reason this bothered him immensely.

"Is that what you think?"

He tilted his head towards his shoulder. "Everyone always ends up liking Stefan best."

He frowned as the words came out of his mouth. When did he ever think that? His father had always treated them equally growing up. And, sure, Stefan had dated Elena first, but she had chosen him in the end, hadn't she?

"I'll admit that I got along with Stefan best when we first met, but I never liked him that way." She met his eyes unwaveringly and shrugged. "He's my friend, and that's it."

"I see." He didn't know why, but this revelation made him happy. Very happy. He must have been grinning because she was looking at him oddly before quickly dropping her gaze.

"We should really get going and check out Fry's shop." She walked past him and took her wallet out of her purse, retrieving a small slip of paper. "I just need to get directions first."

"Gimme that." He snatched the paper from her hand and gave it a cursory glance. "I know the city just as well any front desk clerk."

"Sure ya do." She slipped the tablet into her tote and slung the strap over her shoulder, issuing him a pointed look. "Put on a shirt and let's go."

He lifted a dark eyebrow at her and slowly walked over to the bed to pick up a black t-shirt. Was it weird that he found her ordering him around as sexy as hell? Probably.

"Did I ever call you bossy?" he asked, slipping the shirt over his head and smoothing it down his chest and stomach. He had a feeling he had a few choice names for her, most not said to her face.

"No." She pulled out a pair of silver-tinted aviators. "Not to my face anyway. You did have a few names for me, though."

"Like what?" he asked, throwing on his jacket.

"Not telling."

"Bitch," he muttered, and suddenly he dropped to his knees, clutching at his head in pain. "What the fuck!"

"Yeah, you used that one a few times," she said with a smirk, releasing him from whatever intense witchy migraine ju-ju she had pulled on him, "and that's what it got you."

He glared at her hotly as he carefully stood back up, although he had to admit that he was slightly impressed, and hard. Seriously, what the fuck was wrong with him? He didn't know he was a masochist.

"Duly noted," he said gruffly, before opening the door for her. "But a point in your favour: you're a _hot_ bitch."

She slipped on her shades and winked at him. "That's why you dated me."

**: : : :**

ONCE THEY LEFT the hotel, Bonnie couldn't shake the feeling that they were being followed or watched. However, even with her magic and Damon's sensitive hearing and vision, they had spotted no one. Still, she kept her guard up.

They had found Fry's shop easily enough; however, they had to wait an hour before it opened. During that time they decided to figure out what was wrong with their cell phones. Damon had bought a new phone (correction: he had compelled a vendor to give him a new phone for free), but the reception was still shitty, as was the Wi-Fi. The only things that seemed to be working were landlines, like payphones.

"You think it's like this all over the country?" she asked, watching him glower at the no signal icon flashing on his screen. "A result of this supposed witch war that's coming?"

He shrugged, slipping the phone into his jacket. "Cutting off lines of communication is a good tactic, in theory, but I assume it'd be tricky to achieve on a national let alone global scale, barring a nuclear fallout. Plus it only seems to only be affecting us."

She lifted her aviators up onto her head and followed his gaze, watching the mass of people crowd the sidewalks and crosswalks. Almost all of them were talking on cell phones. Damon quickly put his theory to test by compelling those nearby to lend him their cell phones; however, the moment he or Bonnie tried to use them, the signal was lost. They were their own electromagnetic interference.

This could only mean that whatever screwy thing was going on with their lines of communication was a result of a spell placed on them specifically, although she couldn't figure out how and when this would have happened. Taking a sip of her water, she tried to rack her brain for what would cause the interference and why. What purpose did it serve, except to make quick and convenient long-distance communication almost impossible?

Yawning, she slipped her water into her tote and leaned back against the building. She winced when a few strands of hair got caught in the old brick and she tugged hard, pulling herself free. She brought a hand to the back of her braid to fix it when her fingers touched the ivory comb. She bit her lip and stole a furtive glance up at Damon.

He had given her the comb a month before they had broken up. The gift had shocked her; not that he had never given her gifts before, but this one had seemed so personal. It looked like it had a lot of history to it and he had given it to her totally out of the blue. She had always known it to be old and expensive, but she had no idea that it was his mother's. He had never told her and she wasn't sure what to think of it now that he had.

The sad thing was that it was on that day when he had given her the comb that she realised she was in love with him. If she had known then that he had given her something of such sentimental value, would she have doubted his love so easily? Would she have broken up with him?

She didn't know.

"Finally," he muttered, and she jumped a little, thinking he had caught her staring at him. "The store's open."

She glanced across the street to see a long-legged woman lifting up metal gates and unlocking the door to the Wiccan shop. A few seconds later the shades were drawn and the CLOSED sign was flipped to OPEN on the glass door.

The witch and vampire quickly crossed the street, weaving between the slow-moving traffic with Damon leading the way like a fullback protecting his quarterback. He held open the door for her, a small bell jingling above her head, and she stepped inside.

The shop smelled of candles and flowers and old books. It was a potpourri of scents yet it wasn't overpowering. It was sort of nice and relaxing and reminded her a little of Grams, which left her feeling sadly nostalgic.

The lighting overhead was dim, a rosy glow, but bright enough to look around, especially with natural sunlight spilling in through the two windows and door. The shop itself was filled with typical new-age Wiccan objects, like candles, herbs, crystals, books, talismans and the like, but she could feel an undercurrent of power here, too. It wasn't just sensing the magical artefacts amongst the tourist paraphernalia; there was a witch in the room. It was the same feeling she got when she had met Lucy and Luka and even Mei Mei.

The same woman who had opened the shop was bending over one of the glass display cases. She had looked up when the bell jingled and smiled at Bonnie.

"Hello."

"Hi." Bonnie smiled back, wondering if she felt it, too.

The woman looked to be in her mid-to-late twenties, dressed bohemian chic in a teal batwing sleeves silk dress with a sort of Aztec design and a necklace with a dangling lapis lazuli pendant. She was rocking the most awesome afro Bonnie had ever seen, reminding her of Alicia Keys in her _Brand New Me_ video (before the wig came off).

When Damon finally stepped inside the store, the woman's smile immediately dropped from her lips. She straightened up and shifted into a defensive stance, power crackling in her fingertips.

Yup. Definitely a witch.

Bonnie kept her smile light. "Hi, we're here to see Edward Fry."

"Eddie?" The woman blinked rapidly, her expression shifting from apprehension to surprise to hope then to fear and finally mistrust. "Do you have an appointment?"

"You need an appointment in this shithole?" Damon groused, his dark brow creasing with disgust, and Bonnie gritted her teeth before smiling apologetically.

"No, we don't have an appointment. Is he here?"

The woman clutched her pendant and shook her head. "He's out-of-town on business."

"Sure he is," Damon drawled, stepping past Bonnie to look this new witch up and down. "And you're his, what, herb dealer?"

"His girlfriend." She glared at him, planting her hands on slender hips. "Naomi."

"Naomi? I was almost certain it would be Moonbeam or Rainbow Burst or Jefferson Starship." He crossed his arms over his broad chest and sniffed at her. "So, _Naomi_, when do you think old Eddie will be back?"

"I don't know." She pointed to the ring on his finger and offered him a blatantly insincere grin. "Why don't you take off that ring and go wait outside for him to return."

He scoffed slightly and squinted at her, which usually meant he was going to say something rude. Bonnie quickly intervened, stepping between the two as though cutting off their line of sight would diffuse the mounting tension in the room. It didn't.

"Look, I don't mean to be indelicate but I know you're a witch and I know your boyfriend isn't away on business. He's missing, isn't he?"

Naomi's brow knitted angrily. "Who are you?"

"She's Glinda," Damon said, hooking a thumb in Bonnie's direction. "The Good Witch of the South—or North, if you only follow the film."

"And _you_ are?"

"Well, I'm obviously the Wizard of Oz."

The witch folded her arms beneath her breasts and practically glowered at the vampire. Bonnie briefly wondered if that's what she looked like whenever she interacted with Damon. Maybe it was a witch thing or a Damon thing. He always did know what to say to piss a witch off.

"My name's Bonnie Bennett," she said by way of introduction, before motioning to her companion, "and this is Damon Salvatore."

Naomi's eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline and she dropped her arms to her sides. "A Bennett witch and a Salvatore vampire working together?"

"Hear that?" He nudged Bonnie in the ribs and grinned. "We're famous. Of course I'm more infamous than famous, and you're more like my sidekick."

She ignored him and turned back to Naomi. "We know your boyfriend was involved with the Cabal—"

"Shh!" the witch hissed, pressing an index finger to her lips. "Not here. This way!"

She led them to the register at the back of the room and Bonnie followed without question while Damon lingered behind. He didn't feel the trustful aura that she felt, which made sense since it was clear that Naomi disliked the vampire as much as he disliked her.

"Seriously, we're going to follow her? It could be a trap," he muttered angrily, and suddenly he was bounced back as he met with an invisible barrier. His fangs instantly descended and his now blood-red eyes narrowed on the afro-haired witch with murderous intent. "I told you it was a trap!" He unsuccessfully tested the barrier again and growled. "Bonnie, get behind me!"

She stared at him strangely for a moment before glancing glanced down at the floor. There was a cordon of what looked to be brick dust mixed with salt surrounding the area that she and Naomi were standing inside. Apparently it not only kept vampires away but anyone who wished to do the person behind the cordon harm.

"It's a protection barrier," she informed him, "like the invitation barrier. She's not trying to hurt us; she's protecting herself."

"Plus no one can eavesdrop on our conversation here," Naomi added with a smug smirk, clearly delighting in the vampire's frustration.

After a moment Damon's features relaxed and shifted back into human mode. His shoulders dropped and he eyed Bonnie sceptically for a moment before returning his angry gaze to Naomi.

"Neat trick, witch."

She shrugged, unaffected. "I don't trust vampires."

"Yeah, and I don't trust witches." He pinned Bonnie down with a cool, accusing gaze, which she returned with equal fervour. "They tend to lie and manipulate and tell you it's for your own good."

Naomi watched the two try to out-stare each other and rolled her eyes. "Why are you here, exactly?"

Bonnie tore her gaze away from Damon and cleared her throat apologetically. "A friend of mine, his brother, was supposed to meet your boyfriend last week and he's been missing ever since."

Naomi looked Damon up and down and frowned. "His brother is also a vampire?"

"Yeah, vampirism runs in the family," he said through gritted teeth, hating that he was being spoken about instead of spoken to.

Naomi obviously didn't care about his feelings; instead she leaned in close to Bonnie. "Does he really think he's funny?"

The petite witch indulged in a good laugh before catching Damon's death glare. Quickly sobering her expression, she lifted her hands in a faint shrug. "In all fairness, he does have his moments."

"Thank you."

"Though they are few and far between," she added quickly. "Anyway—" she turned back to Naomi "—we're here because your boyfriend and his brother, Stefan, were both connected with the Cabal. Can you tell us what you know?"

The older witch sat down on the stool behind the register and shook her head. "Eddie never talked about what he did for the Cabal. I only found out that he was involved a few weeks ago. He'd been acting very secretive lately, very strange. He was scared."

"How long has he been missing?"

"Just over a week."

"So he's dead," Damon stated callously, and Bonnie threw him a nasty glare over her shoulder.

"No, he's not," Naomi said, and he lifted a dark eyebrow in incredulity.

"No?"

"I would know if he was dead," she said with conviction. "We're bonded."

"Yeah, we did that once," he drawled, winking at Bonnie. "Didn't we, kitten?"

"Does your bond allow you to know where he is?" she asked Naomi, deciding it was always best to ignore Damon when he was being passive-aggressive like this.

"I can sense when he's near, but not pinpoint a specific location." She sighed helplessly. "I've tried several locator spells, but I can't seem to make them work."

Bonnie nodded sympathetically. She couldn't find Stefan through locator spells either, which meant a sort of negation spell had been placed on him and quite probably on Fry, too. But Fry's bond with Naomi should have been able to break through that. She began to wonder if there was more interference involved than originally surmised.

"Have you been able to use your cell phone or Wi-Fi recently?" she asked, and Naomi shook her head.

"Actually, no. They started acting up yesterday."

"Have you ever been to Bedford Hills or Mystic Falls, Virginia?"

"No."

She exhaled a frustrated sigh and looked up at Damon, who just shrugged angrily. He had no explanation for what was going on either, unless he was playing it really close to the chest. But if this was a spell, why did it only affect the three of them? Why was Fry so important to the Druids? Had he been just a means to get to Stefan or was it more than that? And why was Naomi involved?

"Naomi, how did you met Edward?"

"We don't have time to eHarmony this, Bon-Bon," Damon snarked impatiently. "I've got a brother to save."

"Be quiet, Damon."

He scowled at her but kept his mouth shut for the time being; however, the metaphorical daggers he was shooting at the back of her head were an indication of words to be later exchanged.

"We meet two years ago," Naomi answered, trying to understand Bonnie's line of questioning. "We're both part of the same coven."

"Coven?" The cogs and wheels began to turn inside her head. "Have you noticed anything unusual with the members of your coven lately?"

Naomi's brow furrowed in confusion. "No, but Eddie kept in contact with a lot of neighbouring covens. When I asked him why, he said he just wanted to make sure that everyone was getting along."

"Did he tell you why the Cabal sent him here?"

"No." She began to wring her hands. "He said the less I knew the safer it was for me."

Bonnie frowned thoughtfully. The Cabal had sent Fry here to observe the witches yet there seemed to be no obvious discord amongst them. The prophecy didn't seem to be adding up.

"What if I told you he was sent here to check on a prophecy?"

Naomi stared at her dubiously. "What prophecy?"

"That an old power would rise up here and that the witches would end up warring against one another." She pointed back and forth between herself and Damon. "We figured out that the old power is the Druids, but I haven't heard or felt anything yet to suggest a conflict among the witches."

"Druids?" The older witch looked a little mystified. "T-there has been no fighting here. In fact, our coven is stronger than ever, and we've been reaching out to other covens."

"It's been the same with my coven, too," Bonnie agreed with a nod. "If anything, we're more communicative and sharing."

"Isn't that wonderful? Barney always said that sharing is caring," Damon snipped, looking both agitated and bored. "Hey, maybe you can create your own lobby group now."

"Or get together and take down all the vampires," Naomi suggested snidely.

"Now, now." He waggled a finger at her. "That's not very nice."

The witch just huffed at him and turned her attention back to Bonnie. "Now that you mention it, there is someone within our coven who I don't trust. He's a friend of Eddie's—well, sort of. I always got the feeling that Eddie didn't really like him much."

She reached down into a cubbyhole and grabbed her purse. Taking out her cell phone, she began scrolling through it until she found what she was looking for and handed the phone over to Bonnie. It was a picture of Naomi kissing the cheek of a tall, handsome man with pale-blond hair, who she assumed was Edward Fry.

"His name's Gavin," Naomi said, pointing to the shorter auburn-haired man standing next to Fry with a beer in his hand. "He joined our coven shortly before Eddie did, but I never quite trusted him. He gives off a weird vibe."

Bonnie looked closely at the picture and a memory briefly flashed behind her eyes—a memory that was not her own.

"I know him!" she said excitedly, showing the phone to Damon. "He's the one I saw in your memories."

Damon bent down and squinted at the slightly pixelated image before frowning at Bonnie. "Is he dead?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

She tried not to roll her eyes at him and handed the phone back to Naomi.

"So do you think these Druids might have Eddie?" she asked with a hopeful inflection, and Bonnie bit her lip with a nod.

"It's possible. They might still have him with them in order to keep him from revealing whatever plans they have set in motion."

The older witch seemed somewhat relieved by this but Bonnie was still unsure. She needed more information; she needed evidence. She and Damon would have to go back to Bedford Hills, either to try to find out what spell had been placed on them or wait for their enemy to come to them.

After getting Naomi's number and promising to contact her if she found Edward, Bonnie left the store with Damon trailing behind and headed back to the hotel.

"Well, he's alive," she said, slipping her aviators back on to block out the glare of the sun. "That's a good thing, right?"

He shook his head. "Makes no sense to keep a spy alive. If I didn't want someone revealing my plans, I'd kill 'em."

"Well, it's a good thing they're not you."

"Yeah, or else they'd be competent," he retorted dryly. "Wouldn't want that."

She angled her head to look up at him. "Are you forgetting that they managed to capture you easily enough?"

"Hey, I knew it was a trap!"

She snorted. "And that makes it better?"

"Stefan was in trouble," he said simply with a shrug. "I had no choice."

"Wow," she breathed, shaking her head, and he looked at her funnily.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just—" She bit her lip and smiled up at him. "You've just become a really good brother."

"I wasn't before?"

She turned away, ignoring the question, though she could feel him glaring at her. It was time to change the subject. "They must need Fry for something. His connections, maybe, or expertise? We should have asked Naomi."

"Yeah, cause she was a regular fount of knowledge."

"This whole prophecy thing is starting to bug me," she continued, ignoring his slight. "It's like it's only half accurate."

"Maybe the Cabal misinterpreted the Seer's message," he said, pausing thoughtfully. "I don't think the witches are going to war against each other."

"I don't think so, either. I think the conflict is really a result of Druids infiltrating witch covens."

"Posing as ordinary witches and warlocks?"

She nodded."They're up to something and they're using the witches." She shook her head with a sigh. "I still don't understand why Stefan's so important to them. She wanted to add, 'and why they're keeping him alive, too', but she wasn't about to say that in front of Damon.

"His milkshake brings all the boys to the yard?" he offered, and she giggle-snorted with laughter.

"Villains do sort of have a hard-on for him, don't they?"

"It's the hair."

She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from howling with laughter. If she started now, she might never stop. But there really was something about Stefan that had bad guys trying to be his BFF. She hoped this was the case now because she really wanted him to be safe.

Suddenly Damon put a hand on the small of her back and guided her around a group of gawking tourists.

"If the Druids are up to something, wouldn't they need some sort of cosmic occurrence in their favour? Is there something coming up soon, like a comet?"

She shook her head, still feeling the ghost of his touch even after he had pulled away. "No, and the Summer Solstice isn't until June. There was a solar eclipse a few weeks ago, but . . ." She trailed off with a shrug.

"What about a full moon?"

She thought about it. "Yes, there's one this Saturday." Her brow wrinkled in a frown. "But that can't be the only natural occurrence, unless—"

"Unless what?"

She stopped walking and he was careful to prevent people from bowling her over.

"The dance of the planets!" she cried. Why hadn't she thought of this sooner? "It starts the day before the full moon and lasts for several evenings."

He gave her the side-eyed look he reserved for idiots. "Dance of the planets?"

"It's where Mercury, Venus and Jupiter seem to shuffle around each other in the night sky, changing their positions from one evening to the next. They'll be the closest they've ever been in the sky."

"Is this rare?"

"It happens every twenty years or so, but what's important is the syzygy. It's been known to cause natural imbalances, like earthquakes and higher tides. It unleashes a massive amount of energy and power that can be harnessed, if properly channelled."

The two then stared up at the clear blue sky before sharing an uneasy look.

"So, back to Mystic Falls?" Damon suggested casually, and Bonnie nodded.

"Back to Mystic Falls."

**: : : :**

MYSTIC FALLS: THE centre of all things mystical. It was an aptly named town.

It had been nearly two decades since she had last set foot here. It was too dangerous for her to settle down in one place for too long, but she had always kept tabs on the families in town, especially the Bennetts. When she had discovered that the doppelgänger was here, too, she saw it as a sign. When she was given word that the Salvatore brothers had arrived, she knew it was only a matter of time.

What she hadn't expected was that one of the brothers would fall in love with a Bennett. That particular twist of fate had remained out of her scope, but it pleased her nonetheless. It was nice to know that after all these years she could still be surprised.

But destiny still played a factor in the grand scheme of things and time was running short. She had things to do and people to meet before it was finally over.

When she walked into the Mystic Grill, a few surprised faces greeted her. Most waved and some looked as though they wanted to walk over and talk to her, but she easily deterred them with a thought and headed to the bar.

The handsome young bartender glanced up at her approach, his blue eyes crinkling into a smile. "Hey, what are you doing here?" Matt glanced past her shoulder, seeing no one else with her, and frowned. "Where are the others?"

"They're safe, for now." She added the last part after a slight pause and his frown deepened.

"I've been trying to contact you, Tyler and Caroline all morning, but the cell phones don't seem to be working around here. Do you know what's up with that?"

"It's a spell." She placed her hands on the bar and shrugged. "This whole area is special, sort of like a supernatural gateway or a Hellmouth, if you ever watched _Buffy_. But if I were you, I wouldn't wear anything with lapis lazuli."

"Huh?"

She waved it off before leaning in close. "Listen, Matt, I need you to do me a favour."

His forehead dented with worry lines but quickly vanished as a look of eagerness washed over his face. "Of course. What do you need?"

She couldn't help but smile at him. She didn't even need to use a glamour or compel him in any way. Was this beautiful blond boy always so trusting?

"I need you to get something for me in the caves. It's a dagger, like this one." She reached into her jacket and took out a bundle of cloth, unwrapping it to reveal an ancient-looking knife with intricate gilding on its handle. "Once you find it, I need you to replace it with this one."

He glanced down at the dagger and then stared at her curiously. "Not that I mind doing you a favour, but why can't you do it yourself?"

"Because the dagger in the caves has been spelled against me," she explained, carefully re-wrapping the knife and slipping it back inside her jacket. "Even if I were to touch it, it would be dangerous, but it's perfectly safe for humans."

What she purposely left out was that the dagger used to be hers and it was the only thing that could kill her, and the doppelgängers.

"Once you're done your shift, we could go together?"

The worrying dimples between his eyebrows disappeared and he smiled brilliantly at her. "Sure thing, Bonnie. I get off in a half an hour."

She smiled up at him with hazel-green eyes, resting her chin on folded hands. "Perfect."

**: : : :**


	8. Lapis Lazuli

AFTER HIS SHIFT, Matt took Bonnie to the Lockwood estate where they quickly located the mouth of the cave.

He entered first, ducking the low hanging and clearing the dirt and cobwebs as he went. The enclosure was tight, narrow in places, and dark, illuminated only by the slanting rays of light that filtered through small holes in the limestone above. Eventually the cavern widened out and cramped passages became easily managed corridors of walking height.

He held up his flashlight and shone it down the uneven dirt path, signalling for Bonnie to follow, but she already had her own flashlight in hand and was leading him. She twisted and turned, easily navigating the labyrinth of tunnels like they were nothing more complicated than following a daily route to work.

"So where's this dagger?" he asked, batting away a few persistent cobwebs. "Is it where the Originals did all their cave drawings?"

"No, it's farther down. There's a recess and then a crawlway we'll have to wriggle through in order to get to the shaft that will drop us into another section of the cave."

He stared at her back, lifting an eyebrow in unmasked scepticism. He had never heard of a crawlway being here before. He knew there were lots of tunnels and they were extensive, running underneath most of the town, but to think he had to crawl through a tight space and drop down into some dark shaft gave him the willies.

Deciding not to voice his apprehension, he continued to follow Bonnie through the tunnels. She obviously knew where this recess was but, frankly, he was lost. Everywhere they turned there were connecting passages and twisting smooth-floored tunnels that branched from their current path. How Bonnie kept her bearings, he had no clear idea. He knew she had been down here a few times, but her ease at navigating the subterranean depths was bordering on unnatural.

"How do you know where you're going?"

"Magic," she answered simply, flashing him a pearly-white smile over her shoulder. "I'm tied to the dagger, so it's sort of like a locator spell in my brain telling me where to go. Plus, I've been here before. I remember the way."

After ducking a few low hangings and passing through what almost appeared to be a false wall, they finally found the hidden alcove.

He grimaced at the narrow opening and then at Bonnie. Before he could bring up the safety issues, she was already on her belly, wriggling through the crawlway and dropping down the shaft with relative ease. It helped that she was tiny. Matt, on the other hand, was not.

After a few tight squeezes and claustrophobic moments, he dropped down into the lower cavern. He expected it to be even darker here but was amazed to find the passageways lit up with a greenish-blue glow. He could even see the gypsum flowers growing on the walls.

"What is that glow?" he asked, still keeping his flashlight on, just in case.

"Glow-worms," she said, leading him down a rocky path. "This particular section of the cave is considered a sacred place. It's almost like stepping into another world, isn't it?"

He had to agree that it was certainly surreal down here. He could even hear the rush of water behind the damp walls and the constant dripping from the ceiling that would likely drive someone mad if trapped in here for too long. God knew how many natural springs ran underneath them.

"Where to now?"

"To a chamber beneath the White Oak tree."

"Huh? I thought the Originals burnt it down."

She shook her head. "No, that tree was already more than a thousand years old when the Mikaelsons used it to make themselves immortal. It's been cut and burnt down many times throughout the millennia, but a new sapling always grows in its place."

"Huh. I guess nature always wins in the end."

"Sorta." She smiled up at him before sobering her expression. "Did you know that there are several ancient religions that regard oak trees as sacred? The Norsemen and the Druids believed these trees to be gateways to other realms or to the gods themselves. In fact, the etymology of the name Druid comes from the Proto-Celtic word for oak: derwo-weyd or druwid."

"Your Linguistics degree is really starting to pay off, Bon."

She laughed. "Yeah, I guess it is."

They continued the rest of the trek in relative silence, emerging from one winding passageway to the next. The tunnels below were cooler and damper than above, with hanging stalactites dripping water. The paths were decidedly more uneven, too, and dangerous to traverses, but Bonnie seemed sure of their way.

Eventually they climbed a little higher and entered a large gallery. The ceiling here was almost cathedral-like in height with a few holes in the rock above that shed more light into the chamber. An elongated cavity cut by running water paralleled their path and pooled towards the centre of the cavern into a natural basin. More water drained from a calcified-formed ledge into the pool while vines crawled across walls, blanketing it with lampenflora.

His eyes went upwards, noting the thick roots that hung above.

The White Oak tree.

His gaze then took in the rest of the bioluminescence-lit room. There were no carvings here, no writings on the wall, no signs of the Original family having staked their claim. But magic definitely existed here. The entire chamber seemed to hum with power.

It felt like it was alive.

"There it is," she said, pointing to a raised platform next to the basin.

The rock was almost chest level and on top of its flat surface rested a small, dark-looking object; the dagger.

He slowly made his way towards it, following the natural incline that felt like steps, until he had to bend down to inspect the knife. It looked similar to the one Bonnie had shown him, except the gold on the hilt on this one was burnished and the blade was dull with dirt and grime yet there was no rust. Other than being dirty and dull, it looked to be in excellent condition. Perhaps a spell had protected it from the natural elements and kept it from deteriorating.

"Is this a barrier?" he asked, motioning to the ring around the platform. Everything outside the circle seemed a bit darker and dustier; everything inside the circle looked untouched and preserved.

"Yes. It keeps supernaturals from approaching the platform and taking the dagger."

"Can I touch it?"

She nodded. "Mhm. Only humans can pass through the barrier. Once you touch the dagger, the protection magic placed on it is lifted. After that anyone can handle it."

"Even you?"

"Even me."

He turned back to the platform and hesitantly picked up the dagger. He didn't feel any magic but he did feel like he was holding a piece of history in his hand. The knife, though in fairly good condition, looked ancient.

"How old is this thing?" he asked.

"Older than I am."

"Funny." He carefully palmed the dagger before stepping back down. "What do you need this for, exactly?"

"To finish something that was started a long time ago," she said quietly. When he gave her a weird look, she smiled and patiently held out her hands to receive the knife. "What's important is that we can't let the Druids have it."

"They're the ones who have Stefan, right?" he asked, not ready to hand the dagger over quite yet, and she nodded. "Well, I think we should dirty up the one you brought, to make it look a bit more authentic."

She dropped her hands and nodded. "Good idea."

While he scuffed up the dagger, she took the other knife out of her jacket and unwrapped it.

"You want me to do it?" he asked, pointing to the platform, and she shook her head.

"No, it's okay. I can handle it now, thanks to you."

She smiled at him and he smiled back, handing her the now-scuffed dagger. She placed it with the fake one and walked up the platform to exchange them.

He watched her for a moment before his gaze was strangely drawn to the basin, mesmerised by the blue glow of the water. Even though there was little natural light in the gallery, everything seemed to be coated with a transcendent luminescence.

Magic definitely existed here.

When Bonnie came back down, she held out the dagger wrapped in cloth and pressed it to his chest. "Here, take this. Keep it safe."

He took it without question and slipped it into his jacket.

After going back the same route they came in, they finally exited the cave some twenty minutes later. They made their way back to the truck, passing near the Lockwood cellar, when Matt swore he heard voices coming from below. The sound of chanting raised gooseflesh on his arms and he quietly motioned for Bonnie to follow him.

His trepidation only grew as he went farther down the stairs. Nothing good ever took place in the Lockwood cellar. But by the time he reached the bottom of the landing, the chanting had stopped. The slightly mouldy root-cellar smell the cellar normally gave off was gone, too. Well, not entirely gone but diminished. Another smell lingered in the air. Citrus?

He opened the large metal door to the left and spied something golden splayed across the dirt floor and realised it was hair.

"Caroline!" He rushed inside the room to find the blonde unconscious on the floor inside a cell. Tyler was lying unconscious a few feet away. "Tyler! Caroline!"

He gripped the cell bars and shook them but the door wouldn't budge. It was padlocked and he wasn't strong enough to break it. When he pulled his hands away, he noticed that they were wet. Everything was coated with liquid vervain and something else. Wolfsbane?

"Why aren't they moving?" He looked at Bonnie, but she just grimaced.

"We need a key or something to open the padlock."

"Her mom—we need to call Sheriff Forbes. Is your cell phone working?"

She pulled out her phone and gave it a cursory glance. "No."

"Go up to the house and call for help there. I'll wait here."

She nodded and quickly excited the cellar.

He sat down beside Caroline with an exhausted grunt and reached through the bars to gently stroke her hair. He wasn't sure how long she and Tyler had been incapacitated but he hoped they would wake up soon. Druids kidnapping vampires and hybrids and playing little mind-games was way out of his scope. It was far too daunting for an ordinary human like himself to handle.

He sat there for a long time, but neither Caroline nor Tyler stirred and Bonnie hadn't yet returned. He listened for her quiet footfalls but heard nothing. He began to feel uneasy.

Another couple of minutes passed and his unease turned to trepidation. A wave of cold seemed to pass through him and he shivered despite the fact that he was wearing a jacket. He lifted his hand to his temple with a wince. His head was starting to throb a little.

Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps, more than one set, and he froze.

"Bonnie?"

There was no reply.

He waited a few moments, hearing nothing further, and then got up and walked over to the door. It was ajar but he saw no one. His trepidation was now bordering on a stronger emotion: fear.

"Who's there?" His hand was on the handle of the door but he didn't dare pull it open any further. "Bonnie?"

He listened, cursing himself for his own hesitation, and finally swung the door open. He glanced up the stairs and saw no one, no Bonnie. He swung his head to left and cursed in surprise when he saw three strangers standing in the corridor, staring at him.

"Jesus!"

On instinct, he brought up his hand and held the flashlight like a shield. When nothing happened, he lowered his arm and chanced to look up. Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him, he reasoned, but the three men were still standing there. They didn't look like vampires. Humans? Witches, maybe? They looked ordinary enough.

"Who are you?" he asked, suddenly feeling emboldened. They weren't exceptionally big, especially the Cillian Murphy look-alike in the middle. If they weren't vampires, he could take them.

Suddenly a stabbing pain lanced through his brain and he dropped his flashlight to clutch at his throbbing head. This wasn't an aneurysm or else he'd be dead. This was something else. This was an invasion.

Druids.

He backed away, or at least he tried to. His entire body had become immobile. All he could do was stand helplessly before these three strangers as the one in the middle raped his mind. Then just as suddenly as the mind-probe began, it stopped.

The Cillian Murphy look-alike took a step closer and leaned forward, reaching into Matt's jacket to pull out the bundle of cloth containing the dagger. He unwrapped it with a grin.

"Well, looky here," he drawled. "An' I thought I was gonna have ta compel a human ta get this fer me an' here ya are, doing my work fer me." He held up the dagger in cheers. "Ta, lad."

"What do you want?" Matt growled, thankful he could at least speak, and that the sharp pain in his head was gone.

The Druid just winked at him. "What all men want: power."

He carefully wrapped the knife and handed it to one of the other Druids beside him. His gaze then shifted back to Matt, scanning him with some vague interest before zeroing in on the Gilbert ring. His grin turned wolfish and he easily plucked the ring from Matt's finger.

Matt struggled to move but his body refused to comply. Instead, all he could manage was to contort his face in mild discomfort. Now he really did look like he was constipated.

"Don't worry, lad," the Druid said, holding the ring between his fingers. "I'll give ya yer nifty super ring back soon, but I need ya ta do a favour fer me first."

He slipped the ring into his front jacket pocket and patted with a smile before placing both hands on either side of Matt's face. Closing his eyes, he began to chant, and Matt felt his consciousness begin to slip.

After that came darkness.

**: : : :**

BONNIE AND DAMON stood side by side in the abandoned field, staring at the crumbling embrasure while the tall grass swayed in the breeze. Neither one was breathing as Bonnie's eyes were closed in concentration.

She chanted softly, summoning her powers, but with each word uttered she could feel her own magic waning. Something was wrong. That was when she felt the blood trickling from her nose onto her upper lip.

She let out a breath of frustration and opened her eyes in disappointment. It felt like high school all over again.

"What wrong?"

Damon was eye-balling her with that crazy look of his, but underneath the carefully crafted annoyance was apprehension and what almost appeared to be a small amount of concern.

"Nothing."

She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and sniffed. Nothing _should_ have been wrong. She was a more powerful witch than she had been two years ago. She didn't pass out or get nosebleed anymore. Using magic like this shouldn't have been draining her but it was.

"Just give me a moment, _okay_?"

He rolled his eyes at her petulant outburst but gave her the space she asked for.

She walked closer to the slave quarters and stopped, taking in three deep cleansing breaths. She could do this, she told herself. She owned her magic; it didn't own her. Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that there was very little she was in control of right now.

She had persuaded Damon to stop at the Bedford Hills plantation on their way back home to Mystic Falls. He had been wary at first, unconvinced it would serve them any good, but she wanted to try another locator spell using the last place Stefan was at; however, her magic had proved too weak, weaker than before, and is somehow validated Damon's objections, which annoyed her to no end. Worse still was that she had no answer for her weakened state unless her powers were being drained somehow.

Her thoughts drifted to Naomi. The witch had bonded herself to Fry and despite this connection she couldn't locate him. Not even a cloaking spell could be powerful enough to break such a bond, so how was this even possible? It could only mean that Naomi's powers had been weakened, too, or they were being manipulated somehow. But how? Then she recalled the lapis pendant the witch wore.

She remembered reading in Emily's grimoire that the power from lapis stones could be channelled, misdirected or simply cut off. She recalled the threat she had made to Caroline when she first crafted the blonde her daylight ring: the witch who spelled the ring had the power to dispel it. Technically she could void any daylight ring she made because she had spelled it herself, but could the same be done to witches who wore the stones? Could they be manipulated by the stones' magic, too?

Her fingers tentatively reached for her earrings, lapis lazuli stones inlaid in sterling silver. A gift from her boyfriend, Iain. Her boyfriend who studied Druids. Her boyfriend who happened to enrol in her university shortly after she did. Her boyfriend who no longer answered her phone calls and texts.

A puzzled look settled on her face before deepening into a dawning, horrified certainty. Her heart plummeted into her stomach. She didn't want to believe it but it was so obvious—Ockham's razor was a bitch to deny. Her boyfriend was using her and she was so ignorant of this that she hadn't even dreamed of putting two and two together.

She quickly tore off the earrings and held them in her open hand, glaring at them. How could he do this to her? How could she keep placing her faith in men who would betray her? Was she that blind or just that easily manipulated? She must have had fool written across her forehead.

Just then Damon came up from behind and glanced over her shoulder. "You got it all figured out?"

"I think so." She turned around and held up her hand, showing him the earrings. "I think the Druids are using the lapis stones to dampen witches' powers or control them in some way.

"This is why I can't perform simple spells without being wiped out, and it might explain why Naomi can't locate Fry. It's also probably the reason why we can't use our cell phones cause the spell doesn't just dampen conduit fields for magic but airwaves and satellite waves, too."

He glanced down at his own ring, the one she had made for him, and she gently placed her hand on top of his.

"Don't worry, I spelled that myself." Now he was looking at her hand on his and she quickly pulled away. "My magic is strong, which means if anyone tried to channel you through your ring, they'd have to break my spell first, which is hard to do when the witch is still alive."

"Your magic is strong?" He snorted humorously. "You couldn't even complete a locator spell without getting a nosebleed."

"Yeah, because of _these_." She held up the earrings. "Like I said, the Druids are using the stones to dampen my power. They could even be controlling witches somehow. Naomi's pendant could very well be affected too, especially if a powerful spell was cast on it."

Damon said nothing at first, just stared at her with those unnerving silver-blue eyes of his, and then he began to circle her like a predator stalking its prey.

"If the Druids are infiltrating the covens, I can understand how the stones would come into the other witches' possession, but how did _you_ get one?"

"These were a gift from my boyfriend, Iain." She swallowed back the bile that threatened to rise up her oesophagus. "I think he's a Druid, too, sent to infiltrate my coven." She inhaled sharply. "And I didn't know."

His lips curled into a nasty sneer and he seethed in silent fury before plucking the earrings from her hand and crushing them in his clench fist. She squawked in surprise, mouth agape as he opened his hand and let the powder fall to the ground.

"There you go. Problem solved." He dusted his hands with a self-satisfied grin before making a shooing motion. "Now you can get back to the mystic voodoo."

She tilted her head and glared at him incredulously. She wasn't even one-hundred percent positive that the earrings were enchanted or that Iain was responsible for any of this, yet her idiot of an ex had effectively pulverised the evidence. But there was no point in getting upset—he wouldn't care, anyway—so she huffed at him and demanded a vein so that she could track Stefan through his blood.

After three attempts and nothing, she felt like screaming. She was still too weak. The spell must have had a lingering affect, despite the fact that the earrings were now dust.

Winded and defeated, she slumped back against a tree. "I can't. I'm still too drained."

"You just need a little power boost." He bit into his wrist and offered it to her.

"Your blood?"

He shrugged. "It helped you search my memories, didn't it?"

She wrinkled her nose in disgust but reluctantly agreed. Technically vampire blood did enhance her senses and boost her magic. Drinking it might give her the supercharge she needed to complete the spell and even shake off the draining vestiges of the siphoning spell.

"Fine."

Before she realised what was happening, he already had her backed up flat against the tree. He wore a dangerous smile as he splayed one hand on her hip to steady her while the other went to his wrist, reopening the wound. He pressed it against her lips and this time she didn't resist, opening her mouth and letting the thick red liquid coat her tongue.

Her throat undulated as she swallowed, lapping an eager tongue at the wound to coax the blood-flow, and he dipped his head to her neck with a groan. He pushed her back even harder, trapping her between his body and the tree so that she couldn't move, and she found that she didn't want to. She could feel his erection press painfully against her stomach and she whimpered. His proximity and the intensity of his blood in her system was more than a little overwhelming.

"I just want a taste," he whispered in her ear, sounding like a plea. "I'll be gentle."

Her mind firmly said no but her body was clearly of another mind. She was already titling her head back, exposing the long column of her neck to his mouth.

He gently pushed her braid aside and laid a possessive kiss on her pulse point. She already became limp in his embrace as his teeth brushed over the sensitive stretch of skin and she braced herself against the sharp, puncturing pain as his fangs sank in. Her vision swam with tears and she cried out, halfway between a moan of pleasure and a whimper of pain.

His fingers fisted tightly into her hair and he pulled, holding her head in place as he sipped her blood slowly but possessively. A content moan escaped his lip as she continued to drink from his wrist and behind closed eyelids images began to form. The bond was almost instant and their minds collided. His thought became hers and swirled together with her own in a colourful blur of sights and sounds. She could perceive his anger and his lust and his need to stake his claim with her like he owned her, or maybe it was a reclaiming.

At the same time his thoughts and memories bled into her, her power came rushing back to her all at once. She felt like she was at the centre of a kaleidoscope of contrasting sensations and impressions, pleasure and pain were entwining so tightly that it was impossible to tell them apart.

She didn't want to let go.

Suddenly they were no longer drinking from each other but kissing, harsh and demanding. Brutal. Blood smeared across their lips and chins and she entwined her arms around his neck, her fingers spearing through the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. The pleasure was liquid and alive, slithering through her senses and making everything but his taste and touch hazy and unsubstantial.

It was too much.

With a herculean effort she managed to pull away from him, stumbling back against the tree and falling towards the ground before he caught her. He held her steady as she panted, wiping the blood off her mouth with the back of her hand.

Her face was flushed hot and her breathing was laboured. Her heart felt like a hummingbird's wings trying to break free from its cage, and it didn't help that his erection was somehow still digging almost painfully into her stomach.

"That's enough," she gasped, gently pushing him away as she wiped at her mouth again. "T-thank you."

He took a step back and deliberately licked his lips and fingers with a smirk. "No, thank _you_."

She tried to glare at him but could only muster the strength to inhale a shuddering breath and stepped aside.

She turned around and lifted her head, glancing around the field. Everything was sharper now, brighter. The late afternoon sunshine was dazzling, almost too bright to look upon. The air was slightly muggy but the humidity was undercut with a steady cool breeze and a fresh, grassy scent.

Power hummed in her fingertips; it coursed through her blood like electricity. She drew magic from all around her, like breathing air, and just stood still for a moment, steadying herself against the whirlwind of energy. Her magic was back ten-fold now, stronger than ever. But more than that, she could feel Damon now, and she was sure he could feel her too.

Her fingers brushed against the blades of grass and an image of Elena popped into her head. She had been here, recently. Bonnie dipped into her powers and delved further. More images sprang up and she saw Elena in this very spot, searching for Stefan and then—

"You okay?"

She shook off the images and turned back to face Damon. He was looking at her curiously, his voice void of its usual harshness that he had been reserving for her lately. He almost seemed concerned. She knew she should tell him about Elena, and she would, but she'd have to break the news to him after she found Stefan's location.

Two birds with one stone.

"I'm going to try the locator spell again."

With her powers fully restored, she went back to the map and tried the location spell again. This time it all came easily to her and she opened her eyes, pointing down at the map.

"He's in Mystic Falls."

Damon rolled his eyes. "Figures. We do all this running around only for him to be at home."

She let out a sigh of relief that sounded like laughter; however, the fact that Stefan was back in Mystic Falls did nothing to alleviate her stress. The Druids had taken him for a reason, whether that was because of his work for the Cabal, his connection with her or his ties to the doppelgängers.

"So your boyfriend was keeping tabs on you the entire time through those earrings he gave you."

It was more of an accusation than a question, and she answered him by gathering her things.

"Maybe, but I don't think that was their purpose. The lapis stones were working as a dampener, repressing my magic."

"But with my blood you were able to regain that power," he said, and she nodded.

"I think blood is the key." She angled her head to look up at him. "When I was reading your memories, I saw them take blood from you. I think they're tracking you through your blood, like a locator spell."

His expression soured. "Any more good news?"

She paused only for a moment before shifting uncomfortably on her feet. It was always better to rip the Band-Aid off in one swift motion.

"Elena was here recently."

His body stiffened and his eyes did that weird bulging thing they did whenever he was furious and afraid. And then he cursed.

"Why can't she ever stay put?" He punched the tree hard, cracking it down the middle, and exhaled loudly before straightening his shoulders. "Let's go."

Bonnie just gaped at his reaction. It was so sudden and anticlimactic. She wanted to ask him if he was really okay, but he was already heading towards the car and she had to jog to catch up.

"Uh, aren't you worried?"

"Of course I am!" he spat. "But she does shit like this all the time and it's become more annoying than shocking. Besides, whatever these Druids want, they obviously need Stefan and Elena for it and they won't kill them—at least not until tomorrow when the full moon and this dance of the planets begin. Right?"

She nodded dumbly, still scrambling to catch up with his long strides. "R-right."

Why hadn't he exploded yet? His cool, collective demeanour regarding Elena's suspicious absence was seriously damaging her calm. None of this had to be good.

When they finally got to the car, this time he didn't bother to open the door for her. He just got behind the wheel and gripped it tightly. He was definitely pissed and wasn't in the right mood to ask favours from, but she decided to tempt fate anyway.

"I know we have to get to Mystic Falls, but we need to find a landline first. I have to warn Lucy and my friends about the Druids and the lapis stones, and Naomi."

He grumbled and gnashed his teeth a few times but ultimately relented, turning on the ignition. He had said it himself that if Elena was taken by the Druids, then she was with Stefan and since he was safe, she would be too. Still, Elena had a habit of getting herself in trouble even while trying to help, so the phone calls would have to be quick.

Damon dropped her off at the same gas station where she had first called Mei Mei from. She decided to call Naomi first, just to tell her to get rid of the pendant and get out of town as quickly as possible. So while Damon waited in the car, Bonnie fed her credit card into the payphone. She had only punched in the area code when a tall blond-haired man approached her.

"Bonnie?"

She paused, hanging up the phone with a frown. She opened the clear plastic booth door and stepped outside. The man looked familiar yet she couldn't place his name; however, she could sense his power. That was when she realised she had seen in before, in a picture.

"Edward Fry?"

Before the man could answer, Damon had already sped over to them and clamped his hand around the warlock's neck, lifting him off the ground.

"Damon Salvatore," he growled, tightening his grip while Fry feebly clawed at the vampire's hand currently locked around his neck. "Now that we've all been properly introduced, you can die."

"Damon!" Bonnie's voice was commanding, laced with a threat. "We're in public."

His nostrils flared and he angrily gritted his teeth, but he eventually complied and uncurled his fingers from around the warlock's neck. Fry dropped back down onto his feet and coughed hoarsely, massaging the blood back into his throat while gulping in great gasps of air.

Damon took a measured step back and glared hotly at Bonnie, who flashed him a brief nod of solidarity. His jaw clenched and he balled his hands into fists but he was relatively under control. Relatively.

"Thanks," Fry croaked, still rubbing at his bruised neck, but Bonnie's stance had shifted into the offensive.

She wasn't his friend.

"Tell us why you're here and why we should trust you," she demanded, before motioning to the vampire, "or else I'll have him take us to a not so public place and let him do what he wants."

Fry looked back and forth between the vampire and witch sharing twin stances and coughed again. "I've been following you since you left your hotel room this morning." Bonnie's right eyebrow shot up into her hairline and Damon looked ready to murder. "I followed you to my shop. You had a talk with my girlfriend, Naomi."

Bonnie nodded, encouraging him to continue. She knew she wasn't just being paranoid; they were being followed. But why?

"I couldn't approach you at the shop, so I had to find an opportune time to get you alone without your bodyguard here." He motioned angrily to Damon, who smiled menacingly at the warlock.

"Why?"

"Cause vampires tend to bite first and ask questions later."

"No." She shook her head. "I mean why did you want to talk to me alone?"

"Wait," Damon interrupted angrily. "How do we know he isn't one of them? A Druid sent here to mess with us."

Fry held out his hand to Bonnie. "Go ahead; read me."

She frowned but took his wrist; the effect was almost immediate. His thoughts were laid bare to her, open and honest. She closed her eyes and probed further, exposing the vulnerabilities hidden beneath the surface. She saw flashes, a reel of memories spinning on a loop that meant nothing to her but belonged to him and only him. There was no one else occupying the space inside his mind.

He was telling the truth.

She let go of his wrist and inhaled slowly, shaking off the undercurrent of power and turned back to Damon. "He's telling the truth. He isn't one of them."

Damon looked from Bonnie to Fry and scowled, not entirely convinced but begrudgingly willing to take her word for it.

"I was supposed to meet your brother," Fry explained, looking at Damon, "and relay information to him about Gavin and how the Druids were infiltrating the covens posing as witches."

"Why Stefan?"

"Stefan works for the Cabal as a Watcher."

Bonnie blinked, nonplussed. "Watcher, as in _Buffy_?"

"Or _Highlander_?" Damon contributed, shrugging when she shot him a funny look. "What? _Highlander_ came first. Although I think the movie _Buffy_ coined the term first."

She just shook her head at him, unimpressed, while Fry looked back and forth between the two before nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah, I guess." He dropped his hand with a sigh. "Anyway, Stefan watches certain witches—young, powerful ones like yourself and your friend, Bonnie McCullough. It's his job to make sure that these witches aren't being harmed or compromised in any way."

"Wait—Stefan is in charge of protecting her?" Damon threw a hand in her direction, his brow furrowing angrily. "Emily left _me_ in charge of protecting the Bennett line."

"Yeah, and what a wonderful job you did there," she cut in snidely.

"No, he doesn't protect them," Fry interjected, sensing the impending snark-fest. "He watches them, tries to keep negative forces away and reports their behaviour to the Cabal.

"The thing is, vampires aren't offered this position and they certainly don't volunteer for it, but seeing how he's friend of yours and proved to be quite useful, he was welcomed by the Cabal. Thanks to his compulsion skills he was able to watch several witches at once. He particularly looked after you."

"That explains why he didn't like Iain," she mumbled, and Damon snorted.

"Yeah, _that_ explains it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think?"

The two glared at each other before Bonnie shook her head with a huff. "Whatever." She turned back to Fry. "So what happened at the meeting with Stefan?"

"I didn't happen. Before I could make it to the hotel, I was intercepted by the Druids and taken prisoner, kept in isolation in a warehouse down by the piers. I was in and out of consciousness for days, until a member of the Cabal freed me last night. She ordered me to follow you and approach you when you were alone."

Bonnie grabbed the tail-end of her braid and pulled, trying to process everything. "What about Naomi? Why didn't you go to her?"

He gave her a wounded look and she almost recoiled with guilt.

"I can't go to her because she's being carefully monitored. I'm not sure who else has infiltrated our coven, aside from Gavin. They've obviously been planning this for years."

"Do you know about the lapis stones?"

He nodded. "I've noticed that more witches have been wearing them for _protection_." He made air quotes with his fingers and studied her face for a moment. "I see you got rid of yours."

She self-consciously touched her bare ears before flipping her braid over her shoulder. "Do you know what the Druids are using them for?"

"Channelling," he answered, his expression was sombre. "They're planning something big."

"And they're using the witches," Bonnie added grimly, and he nodded.

"Enough of this," Damon said, waving his hand back and forth in annoyance. "What's their plan, witch-boy?"

"I don't know exactly, just that they're using the covens by borrowing their magic."

"Why can't they use their own?"

"Druid magic, or _ancient_ Druid magic, is different from our magic." He pointed back and forth between himself and Bonnie. "It's based on rituals and blood sacrifice and it isn't strictly bound by nature like ours is, yet it isn't black magic or spirit magic, either. It's something entirely different. Alien.

"They believe in Divination and transmigration of the soul. Their spells aren't written; they're passed down orally, from generation to generation. When that tradition ends, so ends their line."

Damon scoffed at the warlock, dark brows knitting into a deep V. "Transmigration of the soul? What does that even mean? Are you talking about reincarnation?"

"That's one way of looking at it."

"Possession," Bonnie whispered, and Fry nodded reluctantly.

"Permanent possession with the right spell and a good amount of blood; plus the sacrifice."

"Wait—" Damon held up his hand "—are you saying that these Druids are _possessing_ people?"

"Temporarily," he answered. "Humans mostly, not witches; their will is too strong to be possessed, which is why the Druids are relying on the lapis stones."

"What about vampires?" Damon asked.

"That I can't answer for sure, but . . ." He trailed off with a shrug. "Let's just say that Druids aren't bound by earthly laws."

"The spirits?" Bonnie asked, and Fry shook his head.

"Beyond that."

She swallowed thickly. This was beyond her.

"I need to warn my friends," she said, and he reached into his jacket pocket.

"You'll need some help, then."

He took out what appeared to be a deeply curved bone or handle with a knife-point tip and laid it in her open hands.

"What's this?" She noted that it wasn't made of bone but ivory and was inscribed with what looked to be hieroglyphs.

"It's an apotropaic wand. You must use this on whoever you suspect is being possessed, human or vampire."

She lifted a sceptical eyebrow. "You want me to knife someone with this?"

"The blade is short. It won't kill anyone."

Damon curiously peered over her shoulder while she felt the weight of it in her hand. Whatever it was, it was ancient; she could feel the power lying dormant inside it. But why would an Egyptian artefact work on a Druid possession?

"Well, it's time for me to head back to New York," Fry said, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets.

"What will you do?" she asked, gripping the wand tightly.

"I'll watch over Naomi and the other covens," he said. "The Cabal will tell me what to do next and contact you, if necessary."

"Contact me? How?"

He shrugged. "They always find a way."

When he turned to leave, she called out to him, "Wait! Why isn't the Cabal involved _right now_, knowing what they know?"

She was angry and for once she wasn't afraid to show it. If this all-powerful council of witches was looking out for her interests like he said they were, why weren't they helping her now when she actually needed their help? Witches all over the world were at risk and they weren't going to lift a finger to do a damn thing about it?

"The Cabal isn't a coven, Bonnie. It owes allegiance to no one. It's merely a governing body meant to monitor and police witches and only interfere when necessary."

"That isn't right!" she snapped, gripping the wand so tightly that she hurt her hand. Her entire body was trembling with barely suppressed rage. Magic was supposed to be about balance yet it always seemed out of favour for the witches. They were always getting the short end of the stick; even with their own kind.

"So you're basically saying that they're just a bunch of self-righteous pricks who pass judgement but refuse to help when help is needed," Damon said.

He was standing next to her, stalwart, and she couldn't help but draw strength from him like she once used to. Fry, however, just shrugged helplessly.

"I have no answers for you. Sometimes events are just meant to come to pass, for good or ill."

"Yeah, thanks for the words of wisdom, Hallmark." Scowling, Damon placed a hand on the small of Bonnie's back and guided her towards the car. "C'mon, let's get back to Mystic Falls."

She led herself be led away, thoughts swirling in her mind like colours in a kaleidoscope, until a particular idea struck her and she halted.

"Wait."

"We don't have time to wait!" he snapped, but stopped anyway. "Stefan and Elena need our help now."

"I know that, and we _will_ help them." She turned around and pressed a hand to his chest, gazing up into his eyes. "But I need to do something first. Do you trust me?"

"No," he said a little too quickly, but then exhaled slowly with a shake of his head. "What do you need?"

**: : : :**

DAMON SAT BEHIND the wheel of the Camaro, impatiently waiting for Bonnie to gather magic supplies from her house.

They had gone to the boarding house first to check on Elena but she wasn't there. No one was. Elena wasn't picking up her calls, either, which wasn't surprising. Even Matt and Jeremy didn't return Bonnie's calls.

It felt like the calm before the storm.

Damon was starting to get a little frustrated, angry and slightly panicked. He knew Elena was alive because he felt it in his gut, but he was still uneasy. He felt like his whole life was about protecting the doppelgängers and he had failed in his mission. Elena was missing because he had dropped the ball. Maybe Stefan should have been her Watcher, too.

Bonnie said she had a plan, but he wasn't entirely convinced of its success. A lot of it relied on chance and even more so banked on her falling into the hands of their enemies. He had already lost Stefan and Elena; he wasn't prepared to lose Bonnie, too.

He grimaced at the thought. Since when had this little witch come to mean so much to him? She might have been a part of his past but he clearly couldn't remember her. It must have been the blood-bond that tied him to her now, but it felt deeper than that. Since she first saved him on the side of the road he had felt a connection. Sometimes he swore he could feel her in his bones.

He really wished he could remember her.

Suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and his ears pricked up to the sound of two extra heartbeats coming from inside the house. Then there was a commotion and what sounded like glass shattering and he was already out of the car and at Bonnie's open door in an instant.

Both hands gripped either side of the frame until the wood cracked and his body strained against the invisible barrier. Tension coiled in his stomach as he looked around for Bonnie. First he scanned the floors for her body but he found her standing with an outstretched hand as she pinned two men in hooded jackets against the wall.

"Bonnie?" He drew out the syllables as if he were testing thin ice.

Her head jerked in his direction, her green eyes clear and lucid. She watched as he pushed against the invisible wall and she finally nodded.

"Damon, come inside."

He lifted an eyebrow in unmasked surprise. He hadn't expected an invitation, but he wasn't about to refuse it. Carefully placing one foot past the now inactive seal, he strode confidently inside her house.

"I like how you deal with a B and E." He proudly observed her handiwork of the two Druids hanging motionlessly against the wall. "So do we waterboard them or are you going to do your Vulcan mind-meld?"

She rolled her eyes, repressing a smirk. "You are such a nerd."

Before he could retort, he was being shoved back into the opposite wall with such force that his teeth rattled. Drywall broke off and fell to the floor as a third and fourth Druid entered the house through the back while a fifth and sixth came in through the front door.

In a rampant rush of pulse and heat, Bonnie held her original prisoners against the wall while she moved on the two who had attacked Damon. The other two took advantage of her distraction and focussed on Damon.

A sickening bolt of pain ripped through his head but he didn't drop to his knees like he had when Bonnie laid an aneurysm on him. This was child's play in comparison. So instead of shrinking from the pain, he welcomed it, channelled it, and lunged towards his attackers.

He moved with blinding speed and sunk his fangs into the neck of his victim, ripping into the carotid artery. The Druid cried out in pain and suddenly they were all on Damon.

He felt them blast him all at once and he fell to his knees, clutching at his head in agony. Suddenly he was lurched back onto his feet with a roaring gasp, as if all the air was being squeezed from his lungs. They were contorting his body in ways it was never meant to be twisted and his back arched so painfully that he heard the vertebrae pop and was sure he was going to be snapped in half.

"Enough!"

He heard Bonnie roar and the room felt like it had imploded. The whole house shook as a great blast of energy rippled outwards, scattering them like leaves to the wind.

He managed to stand to his feet while the Druids were pinned to the walls, their arms flung open and fingers spread and bent so far that they looked as though they were about to break. He glanced up at Bonnie; both of her hands were raised and her entire body was held taut like a string on a bow. She was humming with power and he was completely amazed by it, and her.

Now he truly understood what he saw in her: unadulterated power.

"Parley!" one of the Druids screamed, gritting his teeth against the pain.

"Parley?" Damon wiped the blood from under his nose with a snort. "What is this, _Pirates of the Caribbean_?"

Bonnie shot him a dirty look but she didn't look ready to release her hostages.

_Good girl._

"What do you want?" she demanded in a low growl of a voice that made him want to adjust his pants.

"To make a trade," he ground out with a wince. Blood was trickling from his ears now. "Your friends Caroline and Tyler for yourself."

"No deal," Damon said without hesitation.

"Damon—"

"No deal!" he snapped, crazy silver-blue eyes bulging. "It's obviously a trap."

She was giving him that judgey look and he angrily shrugged her off.

"Look, you know I don't care about Barbie and Wolfboy, but even if they were offering Elena and Stefan on a silver platter, I wouldn't take the deal. Wanna know why? Cause it's a trap!"

She exhaled slowly and relented with a nod, her eyes softening as they fell on him. He felt a twinge of self-consciousness but dismissed it. Normally he'd sacrifice anything and anyone for Elena, but right now he was hesitant to sacrifice this little witch who freely admitted to lying to him.

_If it comes down to you and the witch again, I will gladly let Bonnie die._

He shook his head in bemusement. _Where the hell did that thought come from?_

"You're probably right," she said, before releasing her prisoners, "but I'm going anyway."

He scowled at her, wild-eyed as he tried to brush off his earlier train of thought. This girl didn't have a martyr-complex, did she?

"Bon—"

"Shh." She placed a finger on his lips, silencing him, and spoke so softly that only he could hear her. "They have Stefan and Elena. At least this way I can get them back."

He snatched her hand away and held it between them. "We're not even sure if they have Elena," he hissed, although he was certain that wherever Stefan went, Elena would follow.

"Do you trust me?"

She gave him that crooked smile of hers and he glared hotly at her, tightening his grip on her hand. This was the second time she had asked him that and he wasn't about to admit that he did trust her despite knowing that he shouldn't.

"If they're leading me into a trap, do I get to kill them?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Are you asking for my permission?"

His frowned thoughtfully, realising that he did indeed ask the witch for permission, and then sneered. "Good point. I'll kill them anyway."

"No you won't," she said tugging him towards her. She glanced back at the wary-looking Druids and smirked evilly. "But you can break their arms and legs."

He grinned at her. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."

One of the Druids stepped forward and he tensed. He was bigger and taller than Damon, with reddish-blond hair, and he deliberately motioned to his other two companions near the door.

"Aidan and Malcolm will take you to the location of your friends." He was looking directly at Damon, who glowered at the Druid and was about to protest when he continued, "As you already saw, your friend can take care of herself."

Damon bared his teeth in a growl but Bonnie squeezed his hand in reassurance before shocking the hell out of him by pulling him into a hug.

"Take care of Caroline," she said, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. "I trust you to do the right thing."

As she pulled back, she slipped something into his jacket. He glanced down to see a glimpse of an ivory handle sticking out of a pocket and then he met her eyes.

She placed a hand on his chest. "I'll let you know if I find Elena and Stefan."

He put his hand over top of hers, his brow wrinkling in curious confusion. How exactly was she going to contact him if she was going to be held against her will?

Then she smiled at him and he felt it: a tug on his heart like a summons. His blood began to sing in its veins, responding to the rhythmic beat of her heart. A floodgate of emotions opened up and he felt calm and reassured, filled with conviction and power. That was when he realised those emotions belonged to her and he could literally feel her.

The two Druids behind him cleared their throats collectively and she dropped her hand. His jaw tightened in annoyance at the interruption and the loss of her touch. It was time to go, but he didn't want to leave. Despite knowing she wasn't afraid, he found it harder than ever now to let her go.

"Be careful," he ordered, and she placed a hand on an outstretched hip.

"How weak of a witch do you think I am?"

"Do you want me to answer that?"

She laughed. "I'll be fine. Go," she urged him. "Take care of Caroline and I'll take care of everything else."

Her words cut the tiniest path of control into his psyche and he latched onto them. Some small node of understanding grabbed at the familiarity of an order, _her_ order, and he obeyed. He didn't want to leave her but she had asked him to, and he was helpless not to comply.

When he was finally able to move, it felt like a part of him had shut down. He took one last long look at her before striding away, unaware that he had left behind a piece of his soul.

**: : : :**

STEFAN SAT UP with a groan. He was drained. With each passing day he felt himself becoming weaker. It probably didn't help that the Druids were drawing buckets full of blood from him daily. He shuddered to think what Iain was going to do with it and with him.

When he took on the job as Watcher for the Cabal, he had done it for Bonnie's sake as much as his own. He needed a purpose in life again, a mission, and protecting Bonnie seemed almost as natural as protecting Elena, except that Bonnie never willingly sought out danger and could take care of herself.

He had to admit that Iain was a black horse he never saw coming. He had prided himself on being able to read people and watch out for Bonnie's best interests as well as keep her from harm, but he had let Iain slip past his defences and now he was paying for it with his blood and quite possibly Bonnie's life.

He had to find a way to get out of here and warn her.

The sound of hard dirt crunching underneath boots had him lifting his head in mild interest. A part of him wished it was Damon, even though he knew his brother would have been calling out for him by now. He sniffed the air and smelled human or at least something human-like.

It was most likely Iain, so he decided to ignore him. All the guy ever did was take blood and talk his ear off. Stefan had more important things to do than be lectured, like watch himself slowly desiccate. However, the pull of a human pulse beating was too strong for him to resist; the smell of skin and the blood coursing beneath was all too tempting.

He carefully stood up like an old woman and stumbled past the iron gates. Shadows elongated along the dirt floor and flickered oddly in the torchlight. He slowly ambled towards the opening, teetering on his feet as his shoulder painfully collided into a jagged wall.

The torchlight was brighter here and eventually Iain came into view. Stefan considered turning back just to spite the Druid.

"Back for more blood?" he asked.

"Nah, I have all the blood I need now," Iain said, insouciant, giving a tip of his imaginary hat. "But ta."

Stefan scowled and motioned to the bundle in his hands. "What's that?"

"This?" He took out a dagger and waved it about by the hilt. "It's somethin' my family's been searchin' for fer more than a thousand years, an' a regular ol' human found it fer me. Funny how fate works, eh?" He wrapped the knife back in the cloth and stuffed it in his jacket. "So, Stef, when d'ya figure the cavalry plan on comin' ta rescue its beloved Wotcher?"

The vampire swallowed dryly, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He tried to summon a pitying smile, the kind he usually reserved for Damon. To do him full credit, he got a pretty good start on that smile—then Iain's lips curved in a macabre grin that stopped it dead. There was no good nature in that grin, only murder.

"Aye, I've known all along that ya were a Wotcher for the Cabal. Ol' Dahlia spelled ya with certain powers to keep ya from being compelled an' the sort." He angled his head almost unnaturally. "But yer not feeling so powerful now, are ya?"

"Not with you constantly draining my blood, no." Stefan managed to cross his arms over his chest. "So that's how you're working off her magic?"

Iain scratched at his chin with a shrug. "Blood's a powerful thing. It's the essence o' life, or so I've heard." He dropped his hand with a sniff and leaned forward. "But I'm wonderin' if Dahlia ev'r told ya about yer other role and why the Cabal were so willin' ta take a vampire into their fold. I mean, didn't that strike ya as a wee bit unusual?"

He stared back uneasily at the Druid. Iain's words had struck him with the subtlety of a roundhouse kick to the head. He had never questioned why Dahlia trusted him. When they had first met, for one very brief and puzzling moment he thought he had known her. She had convinced him that he could make a difference. She was the one who had persuaded him that he could walk away from Elena and Mystic Falls. Lord knew how many times he almost went back to her despite everything she had done.

"Lemme give ya a hint," Iain said with a crooked grin. "Ya keep yer friends close, but ya keep yer enemies closer."

Stefan's jaw ticked in annoyance. He had always considered himself a patient man and an equally patient vampire, minus when he was ripper mode. Most who knew him would agree, but they never realised how hard he strived to keep his anger and the bloodlust in check, to keep the beast at bay. He needed that patience to deal with a self-destructive older brother and a life that was constantly kicking him while he was already down. But now that patience was wearing paper-thin.

"What am I to you, then?" he asked, running a hand over his face. "Am I a friend or foe?"

Iain stared at him evenly. The full force of those blue eyes was disconcerting, and almost as wild and unnerving as Damon's. "A friend, Stefan; unfortunately for you."

Before he could question Iain further, the Druid dug into his jeans pocket and retrieved a familiar object.

"Lapis lazuli." He held the daylight ring up to the torchlight so that the blue stone glinted against the silver. "First mined more than nine thousand years ago in wot we call modern-day Afghanistan. It was the beginning of civilization as we now know it.

"Did ya know that the lapis stone used ta be valued more highly than gold? It was believed ta hold great spiritual properties, from healin' ta offering the bearer protection. The ancient Egyptians used it fer matters of Divination and ta channel great power, and so did the Druids." He sucked on his teeth. "With enough power and enough stones, just think o' the possibilities."

"You're a regular info dump," Stefan drawled, and Iain chuckled humorously.

"It's a pity so few people care ta understan' the narrative o' their own lives." He held the ring in two fingers and shook it at the vampire. "But with this I know ev'ry person yav ev'r killed, Stefan. With this I could channel yer own power from ya. With this and a bit o' yer blood I could change the dynamics of the spell placed upon this stone; make ya fry instead o' protect ya from the light.

"You see this is witch's magic, an' it can be used against 'em . . . And you. With this and yer blood I know who ya really are, an' I've known the real you fer quite some time, Stefan. We have a lot more in common than ya think."

He came closer to the barrier, and for a half a second Stefan almost thought he'd open his mouth, a ring of pearly white teeth, and devour him whole.

"When this is all over, yer gonna know the real me."

He held Stefan's gaze and the vampire's mind temporarily went blank, unable to proceed or frame a response or a plan. Instead his body stiffened, as if recognising for the first time how frightened of this man he should really be.

"Sir?"

Stefan hadn't even heard the second Druid approach and would have jumped in surprise if he had the strength. The lackey was just out of sight so he turned his attention back to Iain, but the Druid's features were already relaxed and back to normal. Stefan began to wonder if he had imagined the whole thing; a hallucinatory vision or a side-effect of the desiccation.

"Wot's the word, Tom?"

"She agreed to the exchange, sir. She's waiting at the church."

"An' Damon?"

Stefan's ears pricked up at the mention of his brother, anxiety lacing his stomach.

"We let him go, as ordered."

"Excellent." He turned back to Stefan with a wink before giving orders to his minion with a wave of his hand. "Bring o'er our other guest. Stefan could do with a lil company. Besides, this was her home first."

Iain smirked and again there was another disconnection.

Stefan could hear the shuffling of feet and then he saw two men dragging someone in between them, hefting the person by the arms and holding her up so that her feet never touched the ground.

It was a woman.

He watched her long dark hair billow and fan like a curtain in the breeze as they flung her into the tomb. She fell to the floor at his feet like a tossed sack of potatoes and Stefan staggered forward to kneel down beside her. His hands went to her arms and shook her, but she didn't move.

"It won't be long now," Iain said, casually tossing Stefan's daylight ring into the tomb. "A new day's about to dawn."

Stefan ignored the ring and glared at Iain's back as the Druid walked away. He turned back to the unconscious woman and parted a thick curtain of chestnut hair away from her familiar-looking face.

"Elena?"

He placed two fingers on the side of her neck and felt for a pulse but found none. Was she dead?

He turned her over onto her back and that was when he noticed the gauntness of her face and thin railing of her body. He remembered what Iain had said—_this was her home first_—and it finally dawned on him.

"Katherine."

**: : : :**


End file.
